


Challenge One: Cross

by dragonofslash



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 08:42:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 61,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4472756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonofslash/pseuds/dragonofslash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Entries for Challenge One: Cross for the 2015 Summer Pornathon.</p><p>The voting form can be found <a href="https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1RixJqW7DTdHSYlqRnP6TX4tuXveQ99kx7u8PYKJiZDI/viewform">here</a>. Please read the new instructions <a href="http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/110778.html">here.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Group A (warnings)

**Author's Note:**

> Pairings and warnings included in chapters 1-4.
> 
> Chapters 5-8 are repeats of chapters 1-4 without pairing and warning information.

**1**

**Pairing:** Arthur/Mordred  
 **Warnings:** Crossroads demon summonings, demon sex, magic sex

His palms are sweaty when he sets the box into the ground. He takes one last look at it before he sighs and pushes the dirt over it, flattens it out and sits nearby.

Then he waits.

After a minute passes, he lets out another sigh and digs into his pocket. He gets a cigarette out and lights it, watches the smoke curl under the moonlight. Everything is quiet. Until...

"Can I have a drag?"

He damn near jumps out of his skin. He takes a deep breath and tries not to shiver as he feels the thing at his back, sitting right behind him. He does nothing.

"Come on, now," the voice teases. "We'll be making out pretty soon, you'll live if we share a cigarette."

Mordred says nothing. He reaches the cigarette over his shoulder, surprised when the fingers that graze over his aren't stone cold.

"So you'll say yes?" he inquires. He listens to the thing blow out smoke, then takes another drag.

"Yes," it answers. "If you tell me why."

"Why what?"

It clicks its tongue, then reaches the cigarette back to Mordred. He debates putting it out, but then takes a drag himself. He doesn't die immediately, so he doesn't stop.

"Why you keep doing this," the thing said. "I mean, don't get me wrong you've been a favourite. I keep all your pictures and stuff."

"What?" Mordred chokes. He finally turns around and sees the thing has mirrored his pose, sitting on the ground with its back to Mordred and knees to its chest. It turns around when it feels Mordred move and it smiles. It doesn't know that behind its expression, beneath its skin, Mordred can see its real face - odd and distorted and _eerie_. He finds that if he focuses on the human features it's presenting, it actually looks quite beautiful.

"Yeah," it chuckles. It shifts until it's facing Mordred. "I left them in my wallet. Which I left in another body, I'm afraid. Had to drop it and snatch something you'd like better." When Mordred doesn't say anything, it points at its body, "This is for you. And since you're gonna need a name - for all intents and purposes, mine is Arthur."

"Arthur," Mordred repeats, pretending that he doesn't know how this all works. The demon nods. "So you knew I was calling all this time? Why didn't anyone come?"

"Because you're a fucking witch," Arthur laughs. _Wrong,_ Mordred thinks, but doesn't correct him. "A bad one, at that. And you want too much."

"I'm offering you my soul in return."

"One fucking soul isn't worth it," Arthur rolls his eyes. "I don't know what you'll do with me."

"But you'll agree to it now?"

He nods. "I just want to know."

Mordred hesitates. "I can't tell you."

Arthur just looks at him and clenches his jaw. "Fine. I'll do it. But you know that just a kiss won't do for you, right?"

"I know," Mordred sighs.

Arthur pulls him closer. "Don't be so miserable. I'm not exactly bad at it."

"You're a demon," Mordred rolls his eyes. It's much harder to focus on Arthur's human features from this close, so he decides to close his eyes.

"I spend more than half my time up here," Arthur whispers against his ear. "And this isn't my first deal."

"But it is mine." It's not exactly a lie. He's never really been on this side of it before. "What do I say?"

"Just tell me that you want it. Your magic will do the rest."

"I want this," Mordred says.

Arthur is there to collect the oath right off his lips.

Mordred feels his whole body warm up as magic wraps around the two of them and strings them together. He pulls away to take a breath and then seeks out Arthur's lips again, shifting closer until he's on top of him. Arthur hums and Mordred feels his magic slide and caress him like he's never really let it before, but he clings to Arthur, rides it out. When he comes, Arthur is there again to drink the moans out of his mouth, take everything he thinks needs.

He moves away, sticky and sweaty and tired. He looks at Arthur as he wipes his mouth.

"A piece of your soul is with me, now," Arthur smirks.

"It is," Mordred replies. _And soon, it will devour you._

* * *

**2**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur.  
 **Warnings:** Character death (?), (badly researched) strangulation.

*

Arthur is balls-deep in Merlin's arse when his hands tighten on Merlin's throat, making him gasp for air.

*

Merlin walks quickly out of the main server room into the corridor, hoping no one will see him on the way back to his office two floors down. The entire server floor is off-limits to everyone except the inner circle of staff, and Merlin is definitely not one of them. He's wouldn't even be here if Arthur hadn't recommended him for the job. 

Thinking he's less likely to run into anyone there, he turns into the stairwell only to run straight into Uther's personal assistant George. George, the most correct and disturbingly honest person Merlin's ever met. Fuck.

The game is up. He pushes past a gaping George and runs.

*

The suitcase on the floor in front of him is still almost empty, the only things in it are a few old t-shirts. He knows he should fill it with all the things he can't live without – laptop, books, photos, clothes – but even just thinking of leaving feels a little bit like trying to slowly pull your heart out of your chest.

Merlin sits down on the bed and, with a sigh, pushes the suitcase away with his foot and buries his face in his hands. A bit of distance from all of this would be nice.

*

"Merlin?"

Arthur's voice is a bit huskier than normal, and Merlin gets up from the bed to greet him. He's afraid of what he'll see in Arthur's face, so he keeps his eyes firmly locked on that safe, broad chest instead.

"Merlin!" Arthur reaches out and draws Merlin in. With a gentle finger, he forces Merlin's chin up so he can see his face. "Love, what have you been up to today?"

"I..." Merlin hesitates. He should tell Arthur the truth and give him a chance to forgive him, but he's afraid. "I, er, nothing much, really. Left work early, wasn't feeling well."

Arthur watches him closely, as if he can tell Merlin's lying. With a bit of an effort, Merlin grins and pulls Arthur into a tight hug. "It was just a rough day. Tomorrow will be better."

Leaning in close, Arthur softly kisses his neck. "Dad's a dick to you, eh? Can't say I didn't warn you. If I had stayed your boss, I would've kept you safe."

It might be his imagination, but Merlin thinks Arthur sounds a bit sad at that.

*

When Arthur pins him against the wall, pulls down his trousers, and harshly jerks him off, Merlin cries when he comes. Whispering comforting words into his ear, Arthur wipes the tears away with his thumb and presses a lingering kiss to Merlin's lips.

"Can I fuck you?" he asks, quietly, straight into Merlin's ear.

Merlin meets his eyes then. "I don't know, _can_ you?"

The smile he gets in return is distinctly sad.

*

Merlin's trying to pry Arthur's hands off his throat, but he's too strong and keeps them firmly in place, increasing the pressure. With a small gurgling sound, Merlin looks up at him and sees tears are streaming down his face. They drip onto his chest, but Merlin can't feel anything but the pressure on his throat. Arthur's moving his hips minutely, like he can't help taking pleasure in Merlin, even as he's wringing the life out of him at the same time.

"I love you. I love you, Merlin, but he'll kill me if I don't get rid of you, and I can't–"

There are white dots invading Merlin's vision, and he starts to panic properly because he can't breathe and he can't believe Arthur is doing this and he doesn't want to die, he doesn't, he doesn't–

He tries to fight Arthur off, but he's too weak under Arthur's well-trained muscles. He keeps fighting anyway, because what else is he supposed to do?

"Love, you should have told me. You should have trusted me, but you didn't and look what you forced me to do. God, I would never... you forced me to do it. I can't go against Dad, he's–"

Merlin claws at Arthur's hands and reaches for his face, scratching anything within reach, anything to get free, but he can feel his arms burning with the effort and knows it's over. It's becoming increasingly difficult to see, as blackness is overwhelming him.

_"Merlin. Merlin, why?"_

* * *

**3**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana, Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warnings:** Possibly underage, though no age stated

The young man sitting across from her was more tense that she'd ever seen him before. Merlin was their star tenor, and could sing a fearless solo in front of an Easter Sunday crowd, and now he had his shoulders up around his ears, and couldn't seem to speak at all.

"Why don't I start," Gwen said. "You said you had a question. What was it?"

He took a deep breath and said, "Did you ever doubt?"

"I doubt all the time! Cereal or eggs, black tea or green… about what, specifically?"

"I mean, before you joined the convent. Did you doubt?"

"Oh," Gwen said, and sighed. "I doubted that a bit. But I'd decided? No. I thought it through, and my father supported me. Why?"

Merlin looked down. "I don't think I want to attend Seminary."

"Why's that?"

And here Merlin looked down, started so hard to the table she thought his eyes would get stuck. "There's a boy," he said finally.

Oh. "Oh," Gwen said, and with a smile, "a special boy?"

"Yes," Merlin said, "very."

_______________________

Gwen remembers this conversation backwards. Telling her best friend that she doesn't want to get married and have kids, that they she's had different plans her whole life. She'd read about Hildegarde von Bingen and realized that what she really wanted was that. Nuns could change the world.

Morgana hadn't been happy. Gwen knew she wouldn't be, but the level of disapproval was more than she'd expected. Weren't they friends, hadn't they been lovers before, what was this insane nonsense about finding god? But God had been there, as well as love for her best friend. And if Morgana couldn't see that where her family could, then Gwen would have to decide.

\------------------------------------

"What's his name?"

"Arthur," Merlin whispers. He says it like he sings "Ave."

"What's he like?"

\-----------------------------------

Morgana was a perfect goth, thin and pale, blue eyes and black hair. Gwen looked at her and saw Joan of Arc. Possibly even the witchcraft part, because she followed her everywhere. She followed her all the way to Morgana's room, onto her floor, on to her back on a hot summer day, kissing her instead of the boys and feeling heady with power.

Morgana had kissed her senseless, and it had left marks all down her neck. She'd been grounded for a week, with "no boys allowed in the house until the end of time!" And she'd tried to look sad, but all it meant was that Morgana visited her instead. They didn't leave visible marks anymore, in favor of suckling at nipples and fingers and toes.

\----------------------------------

"He's at my school. He's head of the debate team, and his dad's head of the PTO." Now he whispers, "he kissed me."

 

Morgana had laid her back on her bed, skirt abandoned, shirt pushed up. She'd worn a proud wicked smile as she kissed her way down. Gwen had held her hand and guided the other up to her breast. She'd held it there, Morgana's pulse over hers, her tongue in her cunt, and whispered, "Oh god, oh god," and meant it in more ways than one.

 

Twenty years later she still feels how Morgana had made her come, tastes Morgana on her tongue. It was like lemon, honey and musk. And when Merlin asks if she ever doubted, she remembers that taste. Did she doubt? Well, only if Morgana did.

And she hadn't. When Morgana laughed, then teased, then shouted, Gwen had known all the way that her choice was right.

This sad, smiling boy in front of her does not.

"Father K would tell you to follow God's will," Gwen says. "But when I decided, I chose between a girl and my path." Merlin's eyes fly up, and she nods. "Yes, me too. I chose this. That doesn't mean you have to. Do what feels right, Merlin. And no matter what, there's a place for you here."

Merlin nods, swallows, stands up, and swallows again. He says, "Thank you," and leaves.

And Gwen goes on, making tea, and cleaning, and living through memories and faith.

* * *

**4**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana  
 **Warnings:** (temporary) character death

"Bring him back," Gwen says.

The woman being worn as skin bites her lip. She's young, mousy, with a deceptively earnest look on her face. She's pretty, if you like that sort of thing (Gwen thinks she did used to like that sort of thing).

"I can't."

"Bull _shit_ ," Gwen says, and she doesn't cry, still can't break through the layers of stone that hardened and set as Elyan took his last breaths in her arms. She takes a step forward, and the demon takes a step back. "I know how this works. Take me. Bring him back."

"Elyan made a deal," the demon says. "You should know how that works, too."

Gwen grits her teeth, advances further. "Then get me the ruler of the crossroads."

"You know I can't-"

The demon tries to take another step back, can't. Gwen's face twists, but then so does the demon's, and before Gwen can read the exorcism rites, there's a horribly familiar voice saying, "Let Sefa go, Gwen."

Gwen whirls around, tries to contain her surprise. From the smirk on Morgana's face, she doesn't succeed. 

"You look old," Morgana says. She looks nothing like how Gwen remembers her, or maybe she does. Gwen finds it hard to tell, these days, but the lines on Morgana's face seem sharper, her eyes more wild. 

"You look evil," Gwen says, and it's no kind of retort but she is _tired_ , and she can feel the stone under her bones starting to crack. She couldn't cry for her brother, dead and burning, but she can cry for this.

Morgana cocks her head, like she's curious. "Let her go," she repeats.

Gwen exhales, slow, then breaks the devil's trap she had hid in the shadows. It took her three hours, with the wind rushing through her careful strokes and Elyan's body in the boot of her car, but she wasn't going to get this wrong. She couldn't. 

"You can go, Sefa," Morgana tells her, and the woman's eyes roll back in her head. Gwen catches her before she hits the ground. She's barely a weight in Gwen's arms, and Gwen lays her down gently in the dirt. "Are you sure about this?"

"He's my brother," Gwen tells her, straightening up, "you couldn't possibly understand."

Morgana's face doesn't change, but Gwen sees something like hurt flash across her eyes. Gwen smiles, hard, satisfied.

"One year," Morgana says, and Gwen says, "Five," and Morgana huffs an incredulous laugh, then says, "Two."

Gwen nods. Morgana steps forward, seals the contract with a kiss, but it is soft and familiar and the first touch Gwen has had in so long, and she winds fingers into Morgana's hair and kisses back.

In a heartbeat, Morgana has her against the bonnet of her car, inhumanly strong arms on either side of her. Gwen holds Morgana's liquid gaze; Morgana looks away first.

"Is this a trick," she says, low. Gwen says nothing, and Morgana looks back at her, her face more open than Gwen can ever remember seeing. 

"I just want him back," Gwen says.

"And this?"

In answer, Gwen pulls herself up onto the bonnet, widens her legs so Morgana can fit between them. She moves without Gwen bringing her close, but she doesn't come any further, like she's waiting. Gwen bites her lip, and doesn't tremble as she trails her fingers up the inside of Morgana's bare thighs, finds soft, familiar folds. She's not sure what she expected. 

Morgana makes a sound that's more breath than moan, drops her head to Gwen's shoulder, and Gwen leans into her, holding them both up. It's easy enough, now, her fingers moving like they never forgot how to touch Morgana like this. Morgana turns her face into Gwen's neck and bites, like she's finding anchorage, and she remembers that, too. 

Gwen wonders how long Morgana's been in this body. Gwen wonders how long Morgana was a demon before Gwen met her. Gwen wonders if Morgana knew what Gwen would become. Gwen wonders, and Morgana shudders out a breath and goes limp. 

She straightens up in a moment, Gwen's fingers sliding free. "Do you do that with all the demons?"

"Only my exes," Gwen says, and slides down off the bonnet. Their faces are close, too close. Gwen turns her head away. "See you in two years."

* * *

**5**

**Pairing:** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warnings:** None

Arthur is breathlessly sure that this was not the plan. Because they are supposed to be infiltrating an enemy stronghold but instead he's cataloguing the way that Merlin's staid woollen gown slides over his body because of the sheer petticoats beneath. He's picturing the filmy undergarments that Merlin had held up two days ago in the up-until-then entirely sexless cloisters of Arthur's royal bedchamber, when he'd said 'it's no good, you're going to have to help me. I don't know how girls do it.'

Shoved tight between the spread of Merlin's beskirted thighs, Arthur, helplessly, _knows_ how girls do it. He tries to remind himself that this is a cunning military ruse, not a heated dream. He mustn't take advantage. 'You don't have to -' he starts, possibly a week too late.

'Yes, I do,' Merlin growls. 'Otherwise you'd be doing this alone. Forgive me for thinking you're worth wearing a skirt for. And, for the love of all that's holy, _shut up._ ' 

The footsteps running past start to slow, and Merlin mutters, 'forgive me, my lord,' and dips his head a single inch to press his mouth to Arthur's. 

Merlin's squired for Arthur, dressed and washed Arthur, tended his wounds, looked after him when he's been bedridden, and yet it's like they've never touched before. Arthur's hands fly up to cradle that sharp face and hold on just a little longer - and Merlin's drop to Arthur's waist. Arthur knows he must have drawn breath, tried to speak, because Merlin takes the opening and licks his way in. 

If this is kissing, Arthur can see why men have thrown away honour for it. He pushes blindly into Merlin's hold, uncaring of the shameful hardness in his breeches, and when Merlin moans into him and pulls them tight it becomes clear that under all those layers of soft shifting cloth, Merlin's in the same state. 

The footsteps have gone, and Arthur sinks to his knees gratefully, desperate to touch, shameless in the dark. 

'Arthur, what - oh, god, please, you don't - you shouldn't -'

'I want to,' Arthur breathes, battlefield-bold. 'Let me. Merlin, will you let me?' He's already pushing his hands up under the skirts. 

Merlin's response is to part his legs wantonly and put his hands on Arthur's shoulders. 'Whatever you want,' he says, shuddering. 'Just - quickly. We're not safe out here.'

Arthur takes an impatient breath and ducks down. 

It's dark under here, warm, and it smells of arousal, of _Merlin,_ of his little room off Arthur's grand bedchamber, and Arthur has a sudden flush of heat, thinking of Merlin at night, touching himself so close to Arthur doing the same. He noses closer, rough lace parting as he pushes, until he finds the hot, hard shaft of Merlin waiting for him buried in all that delicate frippery. He touches it reverently, with fingertips, with the tip of his tongue. Merlin's moan translates through shuddering fabric, shivering skin, not noise. Arthur feels it as he takes Merlin fully into his mouth, desperate to be closer.

The weight of it is unfamiliar, heady. Arthur opens wide, until his throat can't take it and he has to pull back or be choked. His own cock throbs tight in his breeches at the thought, that maybe, some other time, _soon_ , he might flirt with that danger. But now he takes as much as he can, until his eyelashes flutter against the fine linen of Merlin's undergarments, and his own hardness is rutted up against Merlin's leg, knees touching the skirt-padded wall behind, and he lets his fingers quest further around. 

Merlin may be no girl, but Arthur suddenly ferociously wants to be inside him. And oh, but Merlin almost melts against the bricks at the touch of Arthur's fingers to the tiny clench of muscle. 

But Arthur will have to wait to fuck Merlin like a girl in these skirts of his just like he'll have to wait to choke on him. Merlin gives a dying man's shudder and Arthur's mouth is suddenly drippingly full, the taste of it like wine, sour but addicting, and with that thought, that having tasted this fruit he's not willing to abandon it, Arthur is spilling uncontrolled and untouched in his breeches.

He's trying hard to regain his composure when Merlin says breathlessly, 'I told you you were worth wearing a skirt for.'

* * *

**6**

**Title: Cross It Off**   
**Pairing: Merlin/ Arthur**   
**Warnings: None**

Merlin dressed like how he lived his life; jeans dirty like the sins he committed; shirt torn like the dreams of his past and shoes optional because FUCK society that's why.

So it came as a surprise to everyone, including Merlin, when he fell in love with an upper class prat, draped in Armani from the day he was born.

Arthur was the complete antithesis of Merlin's style, rarely without a three piece suit and completely unaware of the hard rock and punk sounds that motivated Merlin's aspect on life.

But Merlin didn't care because Arthur _got_ him in a way no one else ever would and they loved each other no matter what the world may think.

When they walked down the street hand-in-hand and people turned to stare at the strange sight, Merlin would pull Arthur in by his hand tailored lapel and snog his living daylights out until the corner of Arthur's eyes crinkled in amusement and everyone around them gaped at the spectacle.

His favourite moments were always the times after such shocking displays when the safety pins on his shirt inevitably caught on Arthur's blazer. The look of contempt on the spectators faces as he waved while Arthur grumbled in faux consternation never failed to amuse him. Besides, he really didn't give a fuck what anyone else thought. And yet...

Merlin could swear he sometimes saw a strange look in Arthur's eye. When they dressed each morning and Merlin pressed the stud into his nose Arthur would look away with some nameless emotion.

It wasn't until Merlin found ‘The List' that he understood why.

***

"Merlin, I'm home!" Arthur called out later that evening, briefcase in hand and tie askew.

"I'm in the bedroom," came the immediate reply.

Arthur grumbled as he shed his shoes, slowly making his way to their bedroom, glaring at a pair of Merlin's jeans that lay inexplicably in the middle of the hallway. He knew Merlin was a slob before they started dating but at least he usually confined his mess of clothes to the bedroom.

"You do know there's this thing called a cupboard don't you?" Arthur griped as he entered their room, a whole tirade ready to spill forth from his lips. 

All his thoughts fell to ash when he saw Merlin splayed across their bed, eyes free of kohl, hair perfectly coiffed and body resplendently decked out in a tailored three piece suit.

Arthur stood poleaxed, as he tried to process the image.

"What?"

Merlin chuckled at his boyfriends adorable confusion and stalked toward him as if he were prey, the molten heat in his eyes leaving no doubt that Arthur was about to be devoured.

"I found your list you prat!" Merlin said as he reached Arthur and slowly began removing his tie, flicking open the top few buttons of his shirt to play with the chest hair underneath.

"What list?" Arthur asked blankly eyes following the motion of Merlin's fingers as they caressed his chest, his entire demeanor dazed in shock and confusion.

"Your sex wish list," Merlin stated matter-of-factly, "The one you keep in your sock drawer."

Arthur's eyes widened in surprise as comprehension dawned.

"I thought you and I might be able to cross one of your items off the list tonight. Specifically the one where you fuck me while I'm dolled up," he said, pulling away to give a quick twirl. 

Arthur nodded eagerly stripping himself of his trousers before gentle hands against his face slowed him.

"If we're going to do this can you do something for me in return?"

***

Arthur laid hard kisses against Merlin's neck as his arse muscles flexed, his cock buried deep inside his boyfriend extolling pleasure with every thrust.

Arthur's blue eyes were rimmed with kohl, his hair spiked and chest covered by Merlin's favourite shirt, safety pins glinting against black in the afternoon light. 

They'd spent over an hour getting ready, Merlin shaping Arthur's hair and positioning himself on Arthur's lap to line his eyes, the air so thick with tension the only option was to fuck with reckless abandon.

Both remained covered from the waist up as they fucked to orgasm, Arthur's hands on Merlin's dick, Merlin's name on Arthur's lips.

***

"I can't believe you didn't tell me about your list," Merlin complained later.

"I never wanted you to change for me Merlin," Arthur answered seriously.

Merlin smiled at Arthur, amazed that such a man could love him.

"Of course now that I know you actually know what a draw _is_ you now have no excuse for your mess!"

Merlin burried his head under his pillow to avoid the triade. God the man was a prat!

* * *

**7**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warnings:** none

Merlin sags against his side. He's cold, teetering on the brink of passing out. Arthur can feel the sticky wetness of Merlin's blood under his fingers even though the wound is on the other side of Merlin's torso.

Glancing back, he can see the searching light of the helicopter sweeping across the area. Merlin's knees buckle under him. Not expecting it, Arthur's pulled to the ground too. He manages to soften the fall, but not by much. They're running out of time.

"Leave me," Merlin breathes out.

Arthur shakes his head. 

"Never."

"It was a nice dream while it lasted," Merlin murmurs, caressing Arthur's cheek.

\---xxx---

_  
"You realize what will happen, don't you?" Merlin whispers, tilting his head back without any conscious thought._

_Arthur's mouth is hot on the exposed skin of his neck, his tongue rough and gentle against the untouched skin._

_"We'll run," Arthur says, following the words with a gentle bite just below Merlin's ear._

_Merlin gasps, presses himself closer to Arthur's body._

_"They say nobody ever made it," Merlin whispers, desperation leaking into his voice._

_"Then we'll be the first."  
_

\---xxx---

His foot catches on something. A root? Or maybe a raspberry twine? Not that it matters. It's just a split second, yet he knows he won't be able to stop the fall this time, the heavy weight of inevitability settling in his stomach for the brief moment before his knees connect with the ground. He bites his lip instead of crying out, fails to stay upright, to keep hold on Merlin's unconscious form. The impact pulls Merlin out of the calm oblivion. He groans in pain, confused, uncoordinated. 

"Sorry," Arthur grits out, feeling the dirt and needles push inside the fresh scratches on his palms. "We're almost there," he adds, resting his forehead on Merlin's shoulder.

Their time is running out but he needs at least a few short seconds to breathe and rest.

\---xxx---

_  
"I'll make you mine," Arthur says, pulling at Merlin's clothes._

_"Yes," Merlin gasps, nimble fingers divesting Arthur of his shirt._

_"I'll set you free," he promises, his hand sliding inside Merlin's freshly unzipped trousers._

_Merlin's ‘yes' gets caught in his throat. His cock is half hard under Arthur's fingers, but fills more with each stroke, each swipe of Arthur's thumb over the sensitive head. Merlin pulls him in for a kiss, desperate and needy. Virgin innocence mixed with his usual straightforward confidence. He takes control of the kiss, involuntary moans escaping him as Arthur teases the sensitive underside of his cock. There is no finesse to their coupling, but that's not what this moment is about.  
_

\---xxx---

 

He can see the faint shimmering of the air at the Avalon's borders.

 

\---xxx---

__  
On his front, his bum sticking up, rocking his hips in the rhythm of Arthur's fingers in his arse, Merlin is a sight to behold. He doesn't even try to hold back the helpless gasps of pleasure falling from his lips, each one of them sending shivers down Arthur's spine.  


\---xxx---

 

"Almost there," he whispers to Merlin who is barely conscious in his arms and runs the last few meters. 

The shield won't let him pass, but Merlin's limp form slides through without resistance.

 

\---xxx---

_  
He pushes in, feels every tremor of Merlin's body, hears the soft whine leaving Merlin's lips. They don't need to rush, not yet. He presses closer, his chest to Merlin's back. Merlin is alive under him, reacting to each shift of their hips, each drag of Arthur's cock against his sensitive inner walls._

_Arthur finally wraps his fingers around Merlin's cock. No teasing this time._

_"So right for me," he whispers, Merlin's movements growing erratic right before he shudders through his release._

_He buries his face in the crook of Merlin's neck, drives himself harder and faster into Merlin's fluttering hole, pleasure overtaking him not a minute later._

_The thin clasps on Merlin's wrists fall away.  
_

\---xxx---

 

"Let him in!" Merlin shouts, clawing at the barrier, impenetrable once he passed.

The shield remains still.

 

\---xxx---

_  
"Ready?" Arthur asks, linking his fingers with Merlin's._

_"Ready," Merlin confirms._

_He closes his eyes and transports them out of the facility. And then they run.  
_

\---xxx---

 

Three men rope down from the helicopter. 

"No!" 

The loud shout reverberates through the air, knocks the men off their feet.

Behind the barrier, Merlin collapses into Arthur's embrace, barely registering Arthur's next words. 

"I told you we'd be the first."

* * *

**8**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warnings:** None

Arthur notices the damp curl of hair on the back of a pale neck three pews in front of him in the summer's heat.

Uther continues to rattle from the pulpit about magic and monsters and their eternal sin, but Arthur's mind drips hazily through the fog of heavy air and densely packed humanity.

There's a new boy in town, his mind wanders.

But mostly Arthur notices the wide-beaming smile and soft eyes that catch something sharp in his throat.

~*~

"I'm Merlin," he grins, hand held out, his palm warm and sure against Arthur's own.

As he ducks his head, dark eyelashes fanning out across the jut of his cheeks, his long fingers twitch where they're wrapped around Arthur's, and he flushes.

Arthur licks at his lips. "Arthur."

~*~

Merlin's back is lean and graceful as he dives headfirst into the pond, where the rest of the town has come to escape the heat, and he shakes his head like a dog when he emerges, laughing madly as water streaks down his face and over his lips. A quick pink tongue darts out to catch the drops and Arthur ducks back under the water and stays for as long as his lungs will let him, heated, heart pounding.

~*~

"D'you think your father is right about the magic? That it's poison?"

Arthur watches Merlin's face for a while, where his profile is turned towards the sun, something sad and foreign in his eyes, something that has no right to be there, and then looks down at their hands, pinkies touching where they're sprawled in the grass, at how it feels like the entire universe is at his fingertips whenever he feels Merlin's skin, however brief, and chokes.

"Sometimes I think my father is wrong about a lot of things," he says in a hush and links his pinky over Merlin's and holds tightly.

Merlin squeezes back and smiles small and private at the sky, sun-bleached freckles that Arthur suddenly wants to count and name stark against the pink washing across his cheeks and down his throat.

~*~

Merlin's mouth is as soft as he'd imagined, and nothing at all like anything he could've ever conceived, where he gasps into Arthur, wet and open.

The world spins and Arthur holds on, fingers sprawled over the small of Merlin's back, and he worries with laughter in his chest if his body can hold so much energy, elation threatening to spill out of every pore.

~*~

Merlin flashes in front of him as they race away from town.

"C'mon, Arthur! There's something I have to show you."

When a butterfly blooms blue in Merlin's hands, delicate and fragile like Merlin's smile, Arthur loses his breath.

It's beautiful and pure in a way Arthur'd never known life could be.

~*~

They steal into the church, behind the alter, Merlin's gasps and giggles punctuating each tug of Arthur's hands.

"Arthur, oh my god."

"I've been thinking about this," Arthur growls with a bite on Merlin's lip, "Ever since the first time I saw you. It's after midnight, no one's coming."

~*~

Arthur pants where he's braced on his arms, legs thrown wide, as Merlin touches his cock, golden eyes spreading slick and heat along his fingers and everywhere they touch.

"Yes, _fuck_ , please, Merlin. _Please_."

Merlin whines, eyes huge and wide in the moonlight through the window, and pushes his cockhead in slowly, until the stretch of it shivers up Arthur's spine and his head falls back against the floor, wordless gasps stuck on his tongue.

"So beautiful," Merlin whispers, hoarse, and can't seem to stop his hips from hitching in more, more fire spreading through Arthur's veins until it threatens to consume him. "I've got you, _I've got you_ ," he mouths into Arthur's shoulder, and they can't stop, they can't, everything spooling out of control as they shake into each other, shake apart.

Arthur comes on a sob, Merlin's breath in his ear, hand on his cock, endless whispered endearments that feel like they're being written into his soul.

~*~

When Uther tears out of the house the next morning and Arthur sees the footage to the security camera he didn't know about open on the laptop, he takes off after him, fingers trembling against the hunting rifle he'd gotten for his birthday.

~*~

Uther spits, vicious and hateful, at the barrel where Arthur stands, feet planted firmly in the Emrys' garden. "He has _magic_ , he has bewitched you, boy, and I will see this abomination put in the ground!"

Arthur smiles and cocks the safety.

* * *

**9**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warnings:** None

After he'd left Camelot, Merlin had seen a lot of crazy things in his long life - but he had never met anyone quite like the Winchester brothers. 

One night he happened upon them exorcise a ghost. He felt compelled to introduce himself. It took some convincing for them to believe - at least Dean needed a lot of convincing. ("You're telling me you're, Merlin. THE Merlin. As in the sword in the friggin' stone!) Eventually they came around and they found a use for his magic.

Merlin was never truly whole after he lost Arthur. He'd never found a purpose again, but fighting evil and saving people did make him feel like he was finally useful and alive again.

There was also the fact that death and destruction followed them everywhere. They'd already fought off one apocalypse. It felt horrible, but he hoped that maybe one of these crises would lead to Arthur's resurrection. It gave him hope for the first time in centuries.

Little by little that hope started to dwindle. By the second apocalypse Sam and Dean had thwarted Merlin feared the world didn't need Arthur anymore, even though he did.

It all came to a head when he learned about crossroad demons. Sam and Dean warned him of what those kinds of deals would result in. Dean even talked in graphic detail about what living in hell was actually like. When they said they'd seen it all, they weren't kidding. 

Merlin didn't care. He had already been living in hell for centuries, nothing could be worse than living another day without Arthur. So, he gathered the essentials and buried it at a crossroads.

He was stunned when he faced the demon. These demons were truly sadistic. The demon before him looked like eerily like Arthur, but his blue eyes were a pale imitation of Arthur's, especially when they turned a perverse shade of red.

Merlin had tried to bargain to have a few years left. No luck.

"I just want one perfect day with Arthur. Please?"

The demon smiled cruelly and sealed the deal with a surprisingly gentle kiss. 

When Merlin got home, the sight before him took his breath away. Arthur stood before him, dressed as he was the day he died.

Merlin hurled himself into Arthur's arms. He started to sob and Arthur held him fiercely. Soon, Arthur slowly kissed away his tears.

They hurriedly undressed each other. Arthur took the time to kiss every part of Merlin's body. His fingers traveled down the same path as his mouth. As much as Merlin wanted to savor every moment, he knew there was little time. 

Merlin arched into Arthur's touch as he prepared him. Soon, Arthur entered him and Merlin knew that the sacrifice had been worth it. 

Merlin gasped into Arthur's mouth and kept saying "I love you." After, Arthur wrapped Merlin in his arms. He slept peacefully for the first time in a thousand years.

The next day, even though they were in a different time, it felt like nothing had changed. Arthur was still a slob who Merlin had to clean up after. Arthur and Merlin still bantered over everything and nothing. The only thing different was they got to make-up with sex.

Merlin knew that he only had until sundown. He didn't tell Arthur what he'd done. He wanted his time with Arthur to be happy. As he watched the sun disappear, he and Arthur made love one last time. He held Arthur's face - he wanted this to be his last perfect image.

A confused Merlin watched the sunset come and pass. 

Suddenly, there was a knock on his door. He was surprised to see Sam and Dean. 

Merlin went outside. "What are you doing here?"

"You're welcome." Dean replied.

Merlin was confused.

"You're probably wondering why you're still alive?" Sam offered.

"Yeah. I thought crossroads demons never went back on their deals."

"Well, just be glad the King of Hell owed us a favor." Dean explained.

Merlin felt immense gratitude. "You did that for me? I don't understand…" 

"After a century on this Earth, we thought you could use a break." Sam grinned.

"But, this is a one time only thing. You better use your time wisely."

Merlin nodded vigorously. "I will."

Sam clapped him on the shoulder. He and Dean turned to leave.

"For your sake, pray you never need us again." Dean said.

Merlin just nodded. He stepped back inside.

Arthur sat up in bed.

Merlin felt tears well in his eyes as he looked at him, knowing he had years left with him.

"Who was that?"

Merlin looked back at the door. "My fairy godfathers."

* * *

**10**

**Pairing(s):** Nimueh/Ygraine  
 **Warnings:** Dubcon, coerced sex

"What did you summon me for?" she demanded.

The woman raised her face to look at Nimueh and Nimueh's eyes widened at the beauty of the young woman. There were tear tracks on her face but the woman looked at her with steady resolve as she answered Nimueh's question.

"I am barren and I need to conceive a son for my husband," she stated simply.

"A life cannot be given without a great cost in return," Nimueh replied. "It is a sacrifice most cannot forbear."

"It does not matter. "I will make whatever sacrifice, for we are bereft without an heir," the woman replied.

"An heir?" Nimueh asked, suddenly more interested in this pact.

"To the throne of Camelot," the woman answered.

"Then you are, Ygraine," Nimueh stated. She smiled at the thought that occurred to her next. "The bargain for the life of a future king is even more steep than that of one for a lowly man." 

"I will make whatever sacrifice," Ygraine repeated.

"Very well," Nimueh replied. "You shall conceive a child tonight, but you must come back here tomorrow to ensure that the child will survive."

"And the sacrifice?" Ygraine asked.

"Will become apparent when the time comes," Nimueh said. Ygraine frowned at the answer but sighed and gave an accepting nod.

"There is a special kind of magic that must be done in order to ensure you conceive tonight," Nimueh stated as she approached Ygraine. "It will also be the seal to this pact."

"Do what you must," Ygraine replied and Nimueh closed the distance between the two of them to steal a kiss.

Nimueh pulled back from the kiss and whispered the words of the spell into Ygraine's ears as placed her glowing hands over Ygraine's womb. She smiled when she heard Ygraine's gasp of surprise, knowing that the touch of magic could be tantalizingly arousing and it would make things so much easier. Nimueh kissed Ygraine again and pushed a leg between Ygraine's own. She laughed when Ygraine pushed her away.

"What are you doing?" Ygraine asked when her mouth was free, she folded her arms together in front of her chest in a defensive posture.

"Sex magic," Nimueh replied. She mumbled a spell under her breath and smiled when Ygraine's clothes vanished. "In order to conceive an heir you womb must be prepared to receive your husbands seed. It's a preparation only I can help you with. You did want a son, did you not?"

Ygraine stared at Nimueh for a few moments before unfolding her arms and nodding. Nimueh smiled at her.

"Don't worry, this will be quiet pleasant for you," Nimueh assured as she approached Ygraine again. With another mumbled Nimueh's fingers regained their earlier glow and she watched Ygraine as she carefully cupped Ygraine's breasts before running her hands down Ygraine's torso.

Nimueh pressed her palm down against the mound for Ygraine's cunt and was rewarded with a soft gasp. She smiled at Ygraine and couldn't resist the temptation to kiss her neck. Nimueh then carefully parted the lips of her cunt and pressed quick circles against Ygraine's clitoris until Ygraine moaned loudly. She kept her other hand against Ygraine's womb pressing down against it, the magic tingled and warmed both of their skin. Nimueh reached down further and pushed into Ygraine's cunt, pleased to find her slick with moisture. She quickly fucked two fingers into Ygraine and continued stroking her clit with her thumb until Ygraine cried out and tightened around her fingers. Nimueh fucked her through her orgasm until the spasms stopped and the magic stopped flowing.

Nimueh laughed at the shocked look on Ygraine's face when she pulled away her fingers.

"Go now and lay with your husband. The magic is now inside you and will guide his seed to your egg," Nimueh said, "But remember to come back tomorrow before the sun rises or the magic will be incomplete," Nimueh warned. She flicked he wrist and the clothes Ygraine was wearing reappeared as she vanished.

Nimueh smiled thinking about the future king who would be born. After the spell tomorrow he would be destined to bring magic back to Camelot.

* * *

**11**

**Pairing(s):** Gwaine/Elena  
 **Warnings:** none

The swing on the porch of Gwaine's parents' cabin squeaks a little as it sways gently back and forth. Elena has her knees tucked up against her chest, her chin resting atop them as she looks out over the lake. Further down the path, beyond the first row of trees, she can hear the rest of them. Smoke billows up from the bonfire. Someone shrieks, followed by another bout of laughter.

Elena hides a wistful smile against her knees.

Suddenly, the swing dips back and she grabs the rusty chains, letting out a surprised yelp. She looks up into Gwaine's smug face and swats him. He laughs as he lets go and the swing rights itself.

"Move up." He squeezes in next to her. They're pressed together from knee to shoulder. "I guess we're not eight anymore."

"I think this is the final proof." She disguises a smile.

Gwaine shifts with difficulty. "We used to be able to fit a bowl of crisps between us."

"Maybe that's our problem right there. Too many crisps."

Elena looks out onto the lawn, down to the edge of it where it meets the lake, thinking of every sun-soaked summer memory. "Everything's changing, right? Going to uni. Feels weird."

"God, this thing is digging into my… move… no, wait. Christ, just…"

Elena laughs and accidentally elbows Gwaine in the stomach before she manages to settle down between his legs. She forces herself to relax, a little self-conscious about the heat of him along her back.

"So." Gwaine's breath tickles her neck. "Going to uni, then. Any regrets?" 

"Maybe. I never apologised to your mum for that broken vase.. And I never picked dare over truth because I was too chicken, really."

"Well, one of those is easily fixed. Truth or dare?" 

She turns her head, brushing against Gwaine's cheek as she does. "Dare."

His gaze is heavy and she knows what the dare is, instinctively. Her lips ghost across his skin until they press to the corner of his mouth. Nerves bloom in her stomach and she wonders if this was a bad choice, but she feels different tonight – bold, like tomorrow belongs to a whole new Elena.

His hands come to rest at her waist when he kisses her back, hot mouth opening under her lips giving her a swooping feeling low in her gut. It's messy and a bit off-centre, but it's making her pulse race as his tongue presses along hers. 

Goose pimples follow in the wake of Gwaine's hands slipping under her shirt to rub soft patterns on her belly, his thumb brushing the waistline of her jeans. She exhales shakily into his mouth and puts her hand on his, guiding it downwards.

He pulls out of the kiss, eyes searching her face, an unspoken question between them. She stares back, pops open the button on her jeans, and leans back against Gwaine's shoulder, heart pounding.

Elena has spent her life choosing truth, has never been the first to ask out a boy, always been the one to listen to stories rather than tell them. But in that moment she feels alive, wired and wild when Gwaine's hand cups her under her knickers, his lips on her neck.

She digs her fingers into his thighs, spreads her legs when his fingers move in slow circles exactly where she needs them. Pushing back, she sinks her teeth into her lip and her eyes slip closed.

Before she has the time to catch her breath, two of his fingers push inside her and she bucks against him, breaks the stillness with her soft moan. He nips at her jaw, pressing a kiss below it as his fingers move, steady and full. She rocks down on them and whimpers at the heat that spreads in her gut.

The heel of his hand presses against her clit, and when she moves with him, jolts of pleasure zing through her at every desperate hitch of her hips. She's wet and the sound of his fingers filling her, drenched in it, gives her a thrill that sends a shiver down her spine even as her cheeks glow hot with embarrassment. 

She comes with a long moan, fingers digging desperately into his thighs, body rocking her through the waves of release. When she slumps back, he loops his free arm around her waist.

"You promise we'll be here again, right?" she says, breathless.

He hums and shakes with silent laughter before he says, "Cross my heart and hope to die."

* * *

**12**

**Pairing:** Gwen/Leon  
 **Warnings:** crossdressing, genderplay

Gwen got the job for two reasons.

One: she took the initiative to file down the too-sharp bit the knight's horse had in her mouth. It was a disastrous idea to alter a nobleman's property without his permission, and yet Gwen couldn't bear it. The poor thing had cuts in her mouth.

When the knight returned to the stables, he immediately noticed the horse was calmer. Gwen was forced to explain, her fingers clenched into nervous fists.

"Are you smithy, too, then?"

"My father's a smith; I learned from him."

He looked at her speculatively through long, sandy lashes. "You want a job, boy?"

Two: he thought she was a man.

*

His name was Sir Leon: knight, nobleman, first son. He was a fair master, paid well, was never cruel.

He also _looked_ at her.

One night, they sat around a fire, Leon and some other knights and squires.

"He had God's own mouth on him," one squire was saying. "Sucked like he was fucking born for it."

Another knight groaned in appreciation, but Leon turned his head and murmured, voice low,

"What about you?"

Gwen froze. "Me what?"

"Ever had your cock sucked by a boy?"

She felt the question as a clench between her legs.

"No." 

It came out raspy. Masculine.

Leon held her eyes for too long before he turned back to the fire.

*

Gwen did think about it. Letting him have her like a boy.

Perhaps he'd corner her in the stables, and she'd turn to face the wall, pull her trousers down until her arse was exposed, let him bugger her.

In an experiment born of desperation and curiosity, she'd tried it out: putting a finger in. It was strange and zingy, and—once she'd thought to add oil—surprisingly _excellent_.

*

Leon found out Gwen was a girl because they literally bumped into Elyan while leaving a tavern.

Elyan took one look at her and one look at Leon, and then there was shouting, and Elyan challenging Leon to a duel, and Gwen stepping in to prevent acts of supreme stupidity. 

Sir Leon was visibly horrified. He assured Elyan over and over there was nothing untoward happening.

Long story short: Elyan and Leon bonded over dramatic promises to care for Gwen. She continued to work for Leon. And Leon didn't look at her anymore.

*

They put up the horses one night, just the two of them. Leon clapped her on the back. "Well done."

His hand lingered, the way it used to, before he snatched it back and turned to go.

Gwen heard herself say, very low, "You could, you know."

Leon froze, facing the door. "Could what?"

"Whatever you like."

For a long moment, everything was still, only the horses shuffling, and then there was the _best damn kiss_ of Gwen's life, and a haystack at her back and Leon's bony hips between her legs, but it wasn't what she wanted.

She whispered, before she could talk herself out of it, "Take me like a boy."

"What?"

"In the arse."

Leon bucked up against her even as he said, "What?! No."

"I want it, _please_ ," she said, and dug her fingers into his hair. "Didn't you think of it, back when… I saw you look at me."

That's apparently all she had to say, because he flipped her onto her hands and knees in the hay, tugged down her trousers, and lunged for the oil in the saddlebag. She thought desperately that he could almost use her own slick, she felt so wet.

The cold oil made her shudder deliciously.

"Slow," Gwen warned, as he pressed in, and so he went achingly slow, groaning as he went. His cock was bigger than her fingers, and the stretch stung, nearly overwhelming, but so good. She braced herself so that she could rub compulsively between her legs.

"Oh, God," Leon said, and started to move in short, helpless thrusts, every one sending a zing up Gwen's spine.

She pressed more furiously at her clit, focused on the ache and friction in her arse.

"You rub yourself like a boy."

Gwen gasped. "Yes. Like I'm jerking my cock."

Leon moaned.

Their fireside conversation flashed in her mind. "Maybe I'll let you suck it someday."

"Oh _fuck_." Leon went rigid, his fingers digging into her arse, and she actually felt him pulse inside her.

She rubbed hard at the slippery flesh between her legs, and her orgasm crested and broke like a wave around his cock.

* * *

**13**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warnings:** May be seen as dubcon due to power imbalance

All right, so maybe getting involved in the game the rich kids were playing with the hapless servant hadn't been smart, but when had he ever been smart when he saw someone getting picked on? 

And maybe he shouldn't have mouthed off the way he did. His mother had often warned him that he would get in far less trouble if he could just keep his mouth shut. 

So when the good-looking thug with the golden hair and the cheekbones and the shoulders and the rest of the package responded to Merlin's attempts to intervene, he realized that his stay in Camelot hadn't gotten off to a great start. 

Because the response involved Merlin bent over with his arm twisted behind his back, and the thug saying, "No, I'm the king's son, _Arthur._ " Then the prince leaned closer to Merlin's ear and whispered, "The next time you cross my path, I'm going to fuck you. So you'd better figure out whether you want to stay out of my way, or not." 

And then the guards threw Merlin in the dungeons, for what would prove to be the first of many nights there. 

*****

Because Merlin couldn't help being Merlin, he didn't manage to stay out of Arthur's way. Or maybe he in his heart of hearts, he really wanted to cross paths with Arthur again? 

In any event, he found himself once again facing off against his arrogant nemesis. He had tried to avoid him, but the jerk had taunted him, calling, "Don't run awa-aay," and laughing when Merlin took his jacket off. And it wasn't Merlin's fault that when Arthur mocked, "Big man!" Merlin's first thought had been, "You'd be surprised at how big it is." 

Arthur was exactly Merlin's type, and the taunting had an aggressive sexual edge, and it was no surprise that Merlin's thoughts immediately turned to bedding him. 

*****

Merlin did _not_ throw the fight. It was just bad luck. 

Or so he told himself. 

But once he'd lost, and Arthur's cudgel had fallen hard on his back, he'd found himself in the dungeons again. 

He noticed that they were slightly more comfortable than the night before, with a pallet and a blanket instead of just straw, and a decent dinner instead of the bread and water of the previous repast. 

He had been asleep for some time when he heard the self-assured voice of Camelot's prince saying, "I need to interrogate the prisoner." When the guards unlocked the door and Arthur came in, he told them, "Go back to your station. I can handle this skinny boy." 

Arthur's idea of how to handle the prisoner was to drag him up by his shirt front and shove him into the wall, crowding against him and shoving his muscled thigh between Merlin's legs. 

He bit Merlin on the neck, hard, and Merlin thought, "How the hell am I going to explain a love bite to Gaius? Especially on my second day in town?" 

And then he stopped thinking entirely as Arthur turned him around and pushed his face into the wall, and he felt a strong arm across his back and a hand pulling his head back by a fistful of hair. 

"You'll have to be quiet," Arthur mouthed into Merlin's ear, his voice husky. "If you want to say no, now is the time." 

They stood in charged silence for ten heartbeats, and then Arthur yanked Merlin's trousers down, kicking his legs wider apart at the same time. 

Merlin could feel a hot prick rubbing against the cleft of his arse, and then he heard the click of a small metal box being opened. 

The box contained some sort of herbal unguent, and Arthur quickly smeared it around Merlin's hole and then worked it in with his fingers. He was fast but thorough, and Merlin heard Arthur make a tiny sound as he oiled his prick with the remainder of the salve. 

There was a luxurious slide in, and then Arthur was fucking him in earnest, pistoning into him while his slick fingers pulled on Merlin's cock. Merlin was having trouble keeping quiet, so Arthur covered his mouth with his other hand, the glove still on, and Merlin's eyes rolled back in his head. 

Merlin came first, shooting against the stone, and Arthur followed, warm seed pulsing into Merlin. He held Merlin up, nuzzling his throat while Merlin came down to earth. 

The prince's voice was smug as he gloated, "Told ya." 

* * *

**14**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Gwaine  
 **Warnings:** NA

"Shit," Gwen hisses as she bashes her hip on the doorknob.

"I thought you said we have to be quiet," Gwaine laughs, lips pressed to her neck. "Or have you changed your mind about making our arrangement public."

"Shut up." Gwen shoves him without conviction. "You know we can't."

Gwaine hums his agreement and the vibrations make her shiver. His tongue draws patterns on her neck, his teeth nibbling along the dainty chain of her necklace.

"I can't believe it took you so long to get away from Sir Bores-a-lot."

"Don't call him that," she bristles.

She hates that he can get to her like this – make her feel like she needs to defend her choices when deep down part of her agrees with him. Especially when their arrangement is supposed to be feelings-free.

"Lance is a nice guy and he keeps my parents off my case," she continues, shivering as his breath ghosts across her nipples.

"So he's met the parents?" There's something in his tone she can't place but she refuses to dwell on it.

"Obviously. His family goes to our church."

"It's just a shame he's so _boring_."

"I didn't come in her so we could argue about my maybe suitor."

He smirks. "Then why don't you think of something else you can do with my mouth."

"Get on your back," she orders, pushing him towards the sofa.

"I love it when you boss me around."

His head is barely on the cushion when Gwen mounts him, hiking up her dress and settling her knees on either side of his face.

"You aren't wearing any pants," he chokes out.

"I like to be efficient," she says, grabbing the nylon clinging to her thighs and pulling.

They tear along the seam, exposing her to the warm night air. Gwaine moans and she rewards the sound by lowering herself onto his face. She grips the back of the sofa, bracing herself and starts to move. It should be shameful how much she loves this; riding his face in time to the music playing in the next room. She's going hard enough that her breasts are bouncing and the crucifix around her neck clinks gently as it slides up and down the chain, a constant reminder of the morals she should be upholding. 

Instead she revels in it. Loves the feel of his hands as they cup her ass, fingers kneading the thick flesh. Loves the slick press of his tongue as it alternates between her clit and her entrance. Loves the way her juices trickle down her thighs into his beard. Relishes in knowing he'll smell like her for the rest of the night and confident that whoever he chooses to go home with won't be able to lick or kiss it off him. She claims him as her own and fucks herself on his tongue, using his nose to massage her clit.

She comes silently, refusing to give in to the urge to scream. She sits back on his chest, hoping she'll leaves a smear on his shirt, feeling pleased at how wrecked he looks.

"I need to be in you right fucking now," he pants.

"Then what are you waiting for?"

He growls low and deep in his throat and then he's lifting her up and throwing her on the sideboard.

"Been thinking about this all night," he whispers, rubbing his cockhead against her entrance.

"Even when you were talking to Vivian?" she asks coyly.

" _Especially_ when I was talking to Vivian."

She doesn't know what she's fishing for, but the press of his cock on her oversensitive clit is driving her wild and she can't shut up.

"All the boys say she's got the best tits."

"They're all idiots," he growls. "You've got the best tits I've ever seen."

It's not the kind of compliment she normally likes, but Gwaine choses this moment to push inside and she stops caring. His thrusts are hard enough that the sideboard shakes but she stops worrying about being noisy and gives herself over to the pleasure. Lets him fuck her like he's got something to prove and claim her like she did him. She swallows his moans as he comes, savouring the way she can taste herself on his tongue.

"We should get back." She tucks herself back into the dress and settles the crucifix between her breasts.

"We should just leave, there isn't anyone here worth our time. If we hurry we can still catch a film." 

It's nothing special, but something about the way he says ‘we' gives her a thrill in a way the sex never has.

* * *


	2. Group B (warnings)

**15**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Gwaine  
**Warnings:** Mild dubcon, and I made everyone French. Including Arthur. Ronhonhonhonhon.

Merlin stumbled into Paris just after midnight. A light drizzle hissed and sputtered in the torchlight that illuminated the narrow, cobbled streets. A drunk fell out of a noisy den to Merlin's left, staggering against him like a poorly-weighted sack of potatoes before careening in the opposite direction. 

Merlin straightened his hat, mouth thinning. He continued down the street, searching until he found a scarred sign with a sun etched into the wood above the words _Soleil Levant_. 

"Bonsoir monsieur, welcome to my inn," An elderly man greeted him. His words were kindly, but his face was wearily tolerant. "Can I draw you a bath? Offer you some dinner?" 

"No, thank you," Merlin said. "I am just arrived from Gascony, and I am looking for a Monsieur de Tréville, do you know him?" 

Behind the innkeeper, out of Merlin's sight, a heap of sodden leather straightened and resolved into the approximate shape of a man. 

"Monsieur de Tréville lives at the foot of the royal palace, but you cannot see him at this hour." 

Merlin huffed a breath through his nose. After nearly three months on foot, camping on the banks of the Loire and along the roads leading into Paris, he was exhausted and ready to meet his destiny. But one night of true rest — under a roof and in a bed — couldn't hurt... Pasting a wan smile on his face, he reached for the purse at his belt. Only to find it missing. 

"Merde!" He spun around, patting himself, before recalling the drunk who'd lumbered into him. "Miserable, cretinous _thief_ ," he hissed. He stood at a loss until he remembered the francs he kept sewn into his cuff for emergencies. He proffered them to the innkeeper. "A room, please?" he said, grinning weakly. 

The innkeeper raised a brow. "I will prepare for monsieur our best stall in the stable," he said. 

"...Merci," Merlin sighed.

While he waited, the man in leather got to his feet and pushed his long hair off his face. 

"Excuse me for saying," he said, "but Tréville has no interest in boys."

"Pardon?" Merlin said, but the man had already turned away, heading toward the rooms on the second level. 

"You could try the Rue Tire-Vit," he called over his shoulder, merrily. "You would have a free bed there. Who knows, with a mouth like yours? You might even turn a modest profit." 

Heat rushed into Merlin's face like a wave crashing onto a beach. "How _dare_ —" he began, but the swine had already closed himself in his room. 

Darting a quick glance around for the innkeeper, Merlin stole up the steps after him and prepared to draw his sword before bursting through the door—

—where he was promptly slammed against its opposite side. 

"Ah," Merlin winced, the rough wood digging splinters into his cheek. 

"How can I help you?" his assailant asked pleasantly.

"You can unhand me, and apologise for the insult you offered me," Merlin growled.

"Oh? It is an insult to be called comely now?" 

"What?" Merlin slowed his struggling. "That was hardly your insinuation."

"If it pleases you, I apologise, little coquette. I meant no offense. Allow me to make it up to you?" 

"I am no coquette!" Merlin spluttered, choking when a hand cupped his prick through his trousers. 

"We shall have to agree to disagree." The man shrugged. "Now, tell me, what business do you have with Tréville?" 

"None of yours!" Merlin gasped. The man maintained a steady stroke, hips caging Merlin in. He'd never been touched so before in his life. His cock stood stiff, prickling and taut. 

"You might at least introduce yourself to the man tugging you off. Here, I am called Gwaine. Now, it is your turn." Gwaine flicked his wrist; Merlin scrabbled for a handhold on the door. 

"I'm Merlin," he panted. "Of Gascony, son of Balinor, and I've come to Paris to join the Musketeers and protect the king as my father did before me." 

"Oh!" Gwaine said, sounding truly surprised. "In that case, welcome to Paris." He set his teeth into the tender skin under Merlin's jaw, steadying him as he jolted and came in his trousers. 

"I...don't understand," Merlin said, catching his breath as Gwaine let him off the door. 

"No, not yet," Gwaine agreed. "But tomorrow you will meet Leon and Elyan, and we will introduce you to Tréville."

" _You_?" Merlin said. "You will introduce me to Tréville?"

"Of course." Gwaine grinned. "You have already crossed swords with a Musketeer; what further introduction does a man need?"

* * *

**16**

**Pairing:** Arthur/Merlin  
**Warnings:** watersports, wetting, light D/s

Merlin sits at the kitchen counter, watching Arthur cook spaghetti for later. The rolled up sleeves of Arthur's shirt reveal the golden skin of his strong arms.

Merlin squirms. The pressure in his bladder from all the water he drank earlier is uncomfortable. He tries to breathe evenly but it's hard, so he presses his hands to his thighs and crosses his legs, tightening them hard.

He shifts again and Arthur turns around, placing his palm on Merlin's knee.

"Merlin, be still."

Merlin tries, but he winces when the butt plug deep inside him shifts, making the pressure on his bladder more urgent. Arthur's touch is grounding, though, and Merlin focuses on his breathing while Arthur goes back to chopping.

Minutes pass. Merlin closes his eyes and drifts, listening to the rhythmic chop-chop-chop of Arthur's knife.

The sound stops and Merlin startles.

"Okay," Arthur says. He washes his hands, then fills a clean glass with water and hands it to Merlin.

Merlin shakes his head, because one more and he'll _burst_. Arthur waits with his hand outstretched. Merlin takes the glass and sips, but Arthur puts his hand under the bottom of the glass and tips it up so Merlin has to gulp fast.

"Good boy," Arthur says, and the fact that he means it makes Merlin all warm inside. He kisses Merlin softly, his tongue barely brushing Merlin's lips, then tugs on Merlin's hand until Merlin slides off the stool and follows Arthur to the bathroom, each step cautious because he is so full.

Arthur undresses them both, slowly and meticulously, and then he steps into the empty bathtub. He helps Merlin in, and Merlin slowly sits with his back to Arthur, half lying in Arthur's arms.

He needs to piss. He needs to go so badly he's afraid to move, but Arthur's gentle strokes up and down his arms soothe him a bit.

"You're doing so well," Arthur says. His cock is twitching against Merlin's backside. "Do you feel how hard you make me?"

Merlin nods. His breathing goes rapid and shallow when Arthur taps gently on the base of the plug.

"Oh God," Merlin moans.

When the plug leaves his body, Merlin almost loses it. The lack of pressure relaxes his muscles, and he has to use all his strength to keep all the pee inside.

Arthur's fingers, warm and slick from silicone lube, slip inside Merlin's hole, taking the place of the plug and stretching Merlin further. Arthur's other hand sneaks around Merlin, coming to rest against Merlin's protruding belly. He presses a little bit and tears well up in Merlin's eyes.

Arthur withdraws his fingers and pushes the head of his cock and then his whole shaft inside in one slow move.

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck," Merlin cants over and over. He's too full. It hurts. It's so good.

When Arthur starts moving, his thrusts deep and slow, Merlin almost blacks out. He can't even moan anymore; he can't move, he can't breathe. His body is ready to burst. He feels Arthur moving underneath him, in him, and when Arthur's palm presses again on Merlin's abdomen, Merlin starts sobbing. He can't get enough air, so his cries are ragged and short.

"Shhh," Arthur whispers into his ear. "I've got you. You're so beautiful, so perfect for me." He grips Merlin's cock and strokes it to the pace of his thrusts, and Merlin can't take it, he can't, he can't....

"Let go, baby." Arthur's voice is a breathy whisper.

And Merlin does, his whole body shuddering on a strangled cry as he comes.

Arthur keeps his cock buried to the root inside of Merlin, and he presses harder on Merlin's bladder.

"Go on," he says, his voice hoarse.

Merlin sobs as the first trickle leaks out of his cock, but then more of the golden fluid flows, mixing with the come on Merlin's stomach. 

He can feel Arthur tensing, Arthur's teeth biting into his shoulder, but it's all muted by the relief, the sheer ecstasy of letting go so completely. His piss is hot on their skin, and he's going and going as if he'll never stop.

"So beautiful," Arthur says through his orgasm, stroking Merlin's hair, kissing him.

Merlin goes lax. He's floating, far away, warm and safe and so, so spent. He might still be crying, but Arthur's kissing the tears off his face and Merlin's kissing him back. It's heaven.

Soon, Arthur will wash them off and tuck Merlin into bed, and Merlin will sleep in the warm embrace, safe and cared for and loved.

* * *

**17**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
**Warnings:** n/a

"You stopped. Even when I told you not to," Arthur says without looking up from the map spread out in front of him. He knows Merlin by his footsteps, by the rise and fall of his breath. "At the crossroads."

Merlin shuffles his feet, takes a few steps closer, hesitates, then comes to stands at the table with Arthur. His index finger traces a line from Camelot to where they are now, the last waystation on the road that cuts through the south of the kingdom. 

"I saw it, the scrap of red cloth, not yet faded by the sun or rain. Tied up with the rest of the trinkets." They'd shivered in the wind and made an unsettling sound, bits of metal, wood, and cloth, offerings left to the old Roman spirits said to guard the crossroads. "The Romans abandoned this land long ago."

"I know. But I couldn't not stop. Didn't you feel it?" Merlin fingertips leave the map to touch Arthur's hand. "It's only a scrap of cloth. It could be yours or mine, that's why I left it." 

Arthur shakes his head, but he's lying and, worse, Merlin knows he's lying. His horse had balked and Arthur's heart had stuttered, then settled only when he saw the cloth that Merlin had left. "You're being superstitious. And overprotective," he adds when Merlin rests his hand atop Arthur's. 

"That's pretty much impossible, given how much you don't look after yourself." 

Arthur keeps his eyes down, shifts his hand slightly so it fits more neatly beneath Merlin's. It fits perfectly, though, and Merlin's hand is slim and strong, callused in different places than Arthur's. 

"What did you pray for? At the crossroads?"

"For our journey. For your safety. For-for you," Merlin says, when Arthur finally looks up at him.

Merlin's hand fits perfectly against his own, and Arthur knows that Merlin's body would, too. That his chest would curve against Arthur's back and his arms around Arthur's waist with no effort at all, just the warm press of skin to skin and Merlin's body wrapped around his. 

What is imperfect, though, and what flutters in Arthur's chest, unsettling him, is the feeling that he gets around Merlin sometimes is the same he felt the crossroads. The uncanny feeling of knowledge that springs more from sense than understanding. 

"If anyone else had seen it, they would know about you." Arthur will not speak of it because Merlin will not speak of it, but he cannot let it rest here. He takes Merlin's hand in his own, bring the palm to his mouth, and presses a kiss to the center. 

Merlin doesn't pull his hand away, but he doesn't argue, either, and perhaps he, like Arthur, cannot cross more than one line tonight. He turns his hand against Arthur's face, fingers brushing Arthur's cheek and tracing his jawline as he'd traced the line on the map: careful, deliberate. 

He walks around the table before Arthur and rests his hands on Arthur's shoulders, brushes his lips against Arthur's before Arthur can decide to kiss him again. "I will protect you."

Merlin can afford to be careful with him: he knows Arthur's heart, and he can read Arthur's longing and desire inside it. He keeps himself closed and quiet, keeps something unspoken between them. 

Arthur cannot bear it, neither the gentle care that Merlin offers nor the uncanny silence that settles between them. He cannot turn away, either, however, and when Merlin kisses him once more, he can hear the rustle of branches and the shivering of the trinkets. 

They are one in the same: Merlin, and the magic that skirts the corners of Albion. 

And there is something inside Arthur, too, that is drawn to both of them, that is part of them both. He sinks himself into the silent kiss that Merlin gives him, parts his lips and lets himself be drawn. Desire shivers through him like the thin spring wind, and then swells, warm and sudden, until he is hard and needy, pressing himself against Merlin with a sigh. 

He knows Merlin by his touch, by his breath and by the slide of his body inside Arthur's; by the fluttering inside his own chest and the perfect knowledge he has now of Merlin's body.

* * *

**18**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
**Warnings:** underage

**April 15, 2001**

Arthur spun around with a shout, and proudly held up a plastic shovel in one hand and a Frisbee in the other. 

"I am King Arthur, and I will defeat you!” he yelled as angrily as a toddler could, and charged forward, pouncing on the mound of sand in mighty rage. 

Behind him, a tiny Merlin cheered him on and started flailing about, making pew noises as if he were also fighting the monster, but with magic. Just as he was wearing the beast down, with Arthur’s help of course, he lost balance and fell down with a thump. Confused and dazed, tears began to well up in his eyes. A tantrum was imminent. 

Arthur’s eyes grew wide and quickly, with an extra stab to the sand mound for extra measure, he exclaimed "Haha! The beast is dead! Take that! That’s what you get for attacking Merlin!” Then he threw down his armor and sat down next to Merlin and said, "I’ll always protect you from monsters.” 

Merlin looked up at him, distracted and no longer about to cry, and asked, "Really?” 

Arthur smiled goofily and replied, "Cross my heart and hope to die,” matching his fingers to his words as he spoke.

**October 9, 2009**

Merlin was bored. Merlin was bored and all he wanted to do was go upstairs and finish his video game. Instead, what was he doing? He was doing math. Or rather, Arthur was doing math and Merlin’s eyes were glazing over. 

Suddenly he felt a sharp pain on his head. 

"Ow! What was that for?” he yelped.

"Merlin are you even paying attention?” Arthur asked. He looked annoyed, which was understandable seeing as Arthur was supposed to be tutoring Merlin and Merlin was supposed to be passing his algebra test next week.

"Yes I was paying attention, clotpole,” Merlin muttered the last bit grumpily. 

Arthur huffed, "I’m not going to keep helping you if you don’t listen.” 

"But it’s just so boring,” Merlin whined. 

"Sorry it’s boring but I have better things to do!” Arthur exclaimed.

Merlin paused for a moment, then said slowly, "Ok. I have an idea. How about we go play video games now, then I’ll pay attention later. Deal?”

Arthur considered his offer for approximately two seconds, then agreed, "Deal.” Then they both, as per ritual, spit into their hands and shook on it. 

**January 14, 2013**

Arthur couldn’t keep his eyes off Merlin, even when they were in class and supposed to be learning about Scott Fitzgerald and how to write a research paper. 

Deciding that enough was enough, he wrote, "Will you go out with me?” on a piece of paper and slid it over to Merlin’s desk. 

He watched as Merlin looked up from his book, read his note, and whipped around to face him. Merlin was utterly confounded. 

Hastily, he scribbled, "are you serious?” and slid the note back. 

Arthur, suddenly feeling very nervous, wrote "Cross my heart and hope to die,” on the next line and slowly pushed it back. 

Merlin, still looking confused but less aggravated, nodded yes.

**January 21, 2013**

Arthur pushed Merlin back onto his bed, following him closely and twisting his hands in Merlin’s hair. He dropped kisses down Merlin’s neck, loving the way that Merlin writhed under him and pulled him closer. 

"Are we seriously doing this?” Merlin breathed. Instead of answering, Arthur reached back up and pulled Merlin into a kiss, deepening it as Merlin moaned. 

Pulling back just enough so that he could see Merlin properly, Arthur asked, "Are you sure you want to?”

Merlin nodded and said, "Cross my heart and hope to die.”

* * *

**19**

**Pairing** : Arthur/Merlin  
**Warnings** : Vampires?

The street was dirty and narrow and not at all Arthur's usual haunt, but then, he'd never actually haunted anyone. 

He'd also never been dead, but there was nothing habit wouldn't eventually settle into.  
Perhaps he should have worn one more often; he might not quite have turned into the devil.

*

His teeth were sharp and out of line, but then, they always had been. Biting his tongue had never made him feel this thirsty, though, nor had the rain ever felt so useless. 

The man in the street smelled like a piña colada: sweet, tempting and in dire need of an umbrella, and never had Arthur so badly wanted to be drunk. 

The ghostly taste of pineapple tinged with iron made Arthur's tongue curl with want long after he'd let the man walk away.

*

He wished he could pretend he didn't know what was happening. But he'd read Dracula, Interview With A Vampire and Twilight (he'd ended up with an A in English, shut up, he was destined to be an A, his future bright and promising and _bloody_ brilliant – ). 

At least he didn't sparkle. Much. 

*

It turned out the man lived round the corner – Arthur could taste the _thud thud thud_ of every heartbeat in every tiny chamber of every person in every room; it made his teeth lengthen and a peculiar kind of hunger beat in his gut; but there was something about this one, even as Arthur pinned him to the wall and Merlin said, "Um, you're wrinkling my vest," and pushed passed him all flushed and angry and with a delicious smell under his skin that Arthur would track and infinitely tried to parse. 

It was just a shame he was so annoying. "Go away," he would say, while Arthur was just minding his own business, and "You haven't killed anyone, have you?" He tried waving garlic under Arthur's nose once. It smelled delicious. 

He spent an unusual amount of time banging on Arthur's door and shouting "Get out of the bathroom, I need to be at work in fifteen!" and honestly, Arthur hadn't thought he'd be such a prude.

*

He didn't mean to stick around. He didn't mean for it to feel like home when everything else felt odd and off kilter. But Merlin did keep a lot of delicious-smelling (blood) garlic around, and Arthur was only (sort of) human, after all.

*

"Hm," said Arthur. The road was narrow and dirty. So was the cross, but it would do. It looked dull and dark and dangerous in the moonlight, and they both looked at it. 

"Well," said Merlin, "I've got wood. You may want to keep away." He hovered around the thing Arthur found he couldn't quite look at. 

"Is there any reason you won't pick it up?" Arthur asked after a long pause.

"… Seems unnecessary," said Merlin. The corner of his teeth gleamed in the moonlight. 

It turned out he really did taste a bit like piña colada, or maybe Arthur's senses were just that fucked up. Arthur could feel a dull thud in his teeth, but it was nothing like a heartbeat; it was like the dull rush of desire to his cock, which he pressed eagerly into the wall, with Merlin in between, and pleasure hummed, quite pleased with itself, along his teeth and his palate and the back of his tongue, all the way to the root of his cock. It felt like coming home.

"I couldn't stand to lose you again," Merlin said, licking his teeth. "I'm sorry. Didn't expect it to feel like this, though. Christ." He lets his head fall back and there's a new rush of blood over Arthur's tongue.

"Wrong century," Arthur tells him. "Couldn't you at least sparkle a bit?"

"Eh," says Merlin, and sparkles, just a little bit, just for Arthur.

* * *

**20**

**Pairing:** Arthur/Merlin  
**Warnings:** Violence (professional boxing AU)

_Jab, jab, block. Jab, hook, parry._

Arthur is a crowd-pleaser, throwing loud punches and showing off those new teeth of his, bitten tight around the mouthguard, puffing out his chest like a bird during mating season. The irony was never lost on Merlin, but especially not now with Gwen making him swish, knocking his head about and checking the tape on his wrists.

"Look at me," Gwen says, because Merlin only has eyes for Arthur, fighting off his corner man, Leon, to flirt with the audience some more, and Merlin wants to split those wide, smiling lips with bare fists. Gwen slaps his cheeks, and he finally tears his eyes from Arthur.

"You are quick, graceful, fierce, a bird of prey." She makes him spit, shoves the plastic between his teeth again. "He's a turkey. He's nothing. He's _dinner_. Eat him up."

He'd love to.

It's a catchweight bout and doesn't count for anything, but Merlin has wanted to punch that smile off Arthur's face ever since the first time he used it as a weapon, that morning five months ago when Arthur had thrown Merlin's shorts at his head and said, "No breakfast. I'm gonna shower; don't join me."

_Hook, uppercut, block, hook._

Merlin is an inside fighter, fast, observant, and good with a counterpunch. Arthur's a hell of a lot stronger but not sure what to do when a man gets too close.

Merlin remembers the taste of Arthur's cock, the smell of that sweet patch of skin in the crease of his hip, the sounds Arthur made as Merlin sucked him off, made him come undone.

Arthur bounces from foot to foot, waiting for the bell to start the fourth round, and Merlin knows how much Arthur likes to have his nipples pinched, that Arthur eats arse like the fucking champion he is. He's lost in it, in the memory of fucking against Arthur's pillow with Arthur face-deep in his arse, tongue sloppy and wet and so goddamn good around the two fingers he had shoved into Merlin.

_Jab, jab, cross. Jab, cross, hook._

Arthur gets Merlin on the ropes within seconds of the eighth bell, laying blows across Merlin's ribs that don't hurt as much as they ought to, and Merlin realises he's pulling his punches.

 _You fucker!_ Merlin thinks, connecting his glove hard against Arthur's chin, just enough to make Arthur stagger and let Merlin duck away, regain his footing, make Arthur come to him for once.

Merlin bares his teeth, feral at the memory of begging Arthur to fuck him, as though Arthur could be trusted with that raw, fragile piece of him. And Arthur had relented, held him down and filled him up, licked promises into Merlin's neck. Arthur had been greedy for it, hungry for Merlin's choked sobs, how much he needed this: _more, more, louder, tell me_.

_Block, block, block, block, block, block._

By the tenth round, Merlin is exhausted. Arthur's punches are wide and wild, and there's nothing behind them. Merlin gets him in a clinch, holds him close, absorbs the last of Arthur's energy in his ribs, already bruised and aching, but not so much as the soft part of him they're meant to protect.

"I know how you fight," Merlin says around his mouthguard, muffled and unintelligible even to himself, but Arthur hears him. Arthur understands. "That's why you can't win."

Merlin shoves Arthur away and throws everything he has into a right cross, hitting Arthur square in his smug jaw, and he falls in slow-motion.

Arthur is down and out.

Time dilates after Merlin is declared the winner. A dozen people jump into the ring, lifting Arthur's eyelids to shine lights in his eyes, turning faces to and fro, inspecting ribs. Leon is still fussing over Arthur after the doctors have deemed him sound, and Gwen chases him off, leaving Merlin alone in the ring with Arthur.

 _Eat him up_ , Gwen had said, but all Merlin wants to do is sleep. People are streaming out of the arena, and Merlin is unsteady on his feet. He falls to his knees, spits out his mouthguard, curls up on the mat next to Arthur.

Arthur flops his head over to face Merlin and just looks at him, teeth red with blood when he smiles, but his eyes crinkle with it, loosen the tightness in Merlin's chest.

"You're awake," Merlin says, inches closer. "You look like shit."

Arthur throws a heavy arm over Merlin's chest and says, "How about breakfast?"

* * *

**21**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
**Warning(s):** None  
~~~

 _'You were such a smug little shit…_

Arthur punctuates each word with a thrust, trailing off into a groan when Merlin grabs the headboard and writhes on his cock. For all of his clumsiness at work, Merlin turns positively serpentine in bed and the sight of his pale back arching in the pale light of the morning wrecks Arthur's senses.

"I was," Merlin says, shifting back into the seat of Arthur's hips and grinding down. "And you loved it. I know how much you like my smart mouth…"

Merlin has gotten entirely too cheeky for his own good over the years and yes, Arthur fucking loves his smart mouth, but he can't let that pass. Gripping the damp hairs at Merlin's nape with one hand, Arthur shoves him down onto all fours and uses two fingers of his other hand—the two that were buried in Merlin's puffy arse not ten minutes ago, to fishhook that disgusting smart mouth.

It has just the effect Arthur knows it will. The sound that Merlin makes is guttural and filthy and, with Merlin's saliva starting to slide over his fingers, Arthur uses the fingers he has in Merlin's mouth to drag Merlin back onto his cock over and over.

"I knew this pretty mouth was going to be mine from the first time you crossed my path," Arthur grunts, jamming the rest of his fingers into Merlin's mouth. Merlin's teeth clamp down in his fingers just hard enough to make Arthur hiss and he jerks Merlin's head back just a bit harder in retaliation. 

Merlin is drooling in earnest now, lips puffy and saliva dripping off his chin to form a puddle on the bedclothes. Because he knows what Merlin likes, Arthur pulls his fingers from Merlin's mouth and smears saliva all over Merlin's face.

" _Fuck. Yes,_ Merlin whines, tossing his head and fucking himself back onto Arthur's cock. He fists his own cock frantically with one hand while the other reaches back to pull Arthur in with each thrust. 

Arthur is close. He can feel the heat rising in his cheeks as he rapidly approaches his orgasm. Arthur forces Merlin's face into the wet spot on the sheets just as it comes crashing over him and he roars his satisfaction, his hips jerking sharply as he pumps his cum deep into Merlin's hole. 

Merlin arches his back and _keens_ low in his throat. It's the most pitiful noise Arthur has even heard a human being utter and it makes his cock twitch hard where he's still buried in Merlin's arse. He shifts back onto his heels, his cock slipping wetly out of Merlin's hole. Merlin whines again and no, _that_ is the most pitiful noise Arthur has ever heard. He's halfway hard again at the sound but his cock will have to wait because the sun is fully risen now and the castle is stirring.

Merlin is writhing in the sheets, pumping his cock madly, but they both know it's no use.

"Do you need me to fill that hole for you, Merlin," Arthur asks, spreading Merlin's arse cheeks with both hands and breathing on his hole. It flutters rapidly before clenching down tight. Arthur presses a kiss to the puffy rim and Merlin jerks sharply, thrusting his hips backward.

"Tell me what you want, Merlin," Arthur teases, "since you seem to have so much mouth to perpetually cross me." They really don't have time for this, the daily clamor of the courtyard filtering up through the open window, but he needs to hear Merlin beg. Then he'll be satisfied.

He taps gently on Merlin's hole and Merlin doesn't disappoint.

"Fuck, _please_ , Arthur," Merlin whines, still pumping his cock fruitlessly. "I need…please…"

He's too far gone now and Arthur knows that's the he's going to get. He rubs Merlin's hole firmly before forcing three of his fingers in to the hilt. He sets up a brutal pace, fucking his cum out of Merlin's hole with the same fervor that he planted it there. It froths up, smearing over his fingers, and the sound Merlin's arsehole makes as Arthur fucks his finger into it is pure filth.

Arthur feels the moment Merlin orgasms before he hears the helpless wail. Merlin's hole clamps down hard on Arthur's fingers pulsing in time with the spurts from Merlin's cock. When it's over, Merlin pitches forward into the sheets, sliding off of Arthur's fingers.

Arthur leaves him there in his wet spots and goes to flag down breakfast.

* * *

**22**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
**Warnings:** panic attack

Merlin was not invisible like he was supposed to be travelling the metro. He had been caught staring. The man had caught Merlin's attention for being out of place. He was smartly dress, blond, exuding confidence... The lawyer type. The kind that had chauffeurs, private cars... Bright blue eyes had locked with his, something _suggestive_ in the small, knowing smile he'd flashed. Damn it, it had been far too long. 

Suddenly the doors opened and several armed guards got in. Merlin felt panic rise. 

"Identity papers everyone."

It was the biggest risk Merlin took when he used public transport. After all these years... Was he really going to get caught? The doors closed. Nobody was getting out. Could he use magic to try and escape? 

The first officer was already in front Merlin.

"He's with me," a voice behind him said, the blond man, "my manservant. I'm sorry to say I forgot to bring his paperwork. But here's mine." He held up a gold card.

The officer looked at it and cast one last glance at Merlin. "Sorry to disturb you, mister Pendragon."

"Arthur, please." the man, Arthur, said congenially.

"Stay with me." Arthur muttered to Merlin. They waited out the raid. Merlin followed Arthur meekly. Outside a limo was waiting. The driver didn't even blink when Arthur ushered Merlin inside.

"You're a cross, aren't you." Arthur broke the tense silence.

Merlin didn't answer. Yes. His name had been crossed out of all registers. He had magic. He didn't have the right to exist. And tonight they nearly got him. They could have made him disappear.  
"What's your name," Arthur asked.

"Merlin," he whispered, the word feeling foreign.

"You're safe now." Arthur said.

Safe. Could it be?

_Will taking a bullet for him. Gilli throwing himself off the roof. Freya in chains, her voice echoing in Merlin's head, "Maybe it's for the best..."_

"It's okay, Merlin, Merlin..." He kept repeating his name like he understood what it meant to Merlin to have his identity acknowledged. Merlin felt hands at both sides of his face, soothingly rubbing his temples. His name being spoken gently, repeatedly.

Slowly the mist cleared up in Merlin's head and he allowed himself to believe that things were alright. That he was _safe_. For now. 

The moment the realization set in, a myriad of other sensations flooded him. Like te proximity of the man, the gently fingers in Merlin's neck moving from one sensitive spot to the next and how his lips were so close to Merlin's. He didn't think anything when he pressed his lips hungrily against Arthur's, desire took over. He kissed Arthur like a starved man attacking a feast. Arthur responded just as greedily, making their kiss wet and rough.  
Merlin's entire body felt like it'd only now really come to life. Everything was taut with want. And what he wanted was _more_. 

Arthur seemed to sense it too, as he pressed Merlin closer, moving them both into a more vertical position on the leather sofa. Merlin groaned as their bodies alligned, he didn't stop his hips from bucking into the hard line of Arthur's cock.  
Arthur moaned too, lightly biting Merlin's lips as he worked one hand undeneath the waistline of Merlin's trousers.  
"I want... Please..."  
He didn't know what he wanted. He just wanted everything this man could offer.  
But he didn't need to explain. Arthur made quick work of Merlin's trousers and boxers, not hesitating to take Merlin's cock in his smooth, warm hands. Merlin closed his eyes at the glorious sensation. He felt and heard Arthur move but was shocked to feel a kiss being pressed to the crown of his cock. His eyes flew back open staring up at the daydream-like figure now positioned between his legs.

"You don't have to..."

Arthur silenced him with another kiss, this one wet, Arthur's tongue sliding over his erection. He smiled at Merlin. "Let me do this for you."

Merlin couldn't speak, it took all of his willpower not to scream out as Arthur sucked him off enthusiastically. He didn't know how soundproof these private limousines were.

It didn't last very long. Everything felt more intense than it ever had. Coming down slowly from the orgasm, Merlin was lying with his eyes closed, listening to the sound of the car's engine. Arthur was lying in the small space behind him, face nuzzling Merlin's neck. 

He hadn't yet returned the favour, Merlin thought. But he was in a car with Arthur _Pendragon_ , Merlin slowly began to realize. His night was far from over yet...

* * *

**23**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
**Warnings:** Possible dubcon interpretation (its not really, I promise)

"Now what's a good boy like you doing at a crossroads like this?"

Arthur spun around, eyes widening as he caught sight of the figure leaning against the signpost. Pale and waifish, wearing low slung jeans and a shirt as black as his hair. 

"I've come to make a deal."

"Have you now?" The demon grinned, his gait lazy as he circled Arthur. "And what kind of deal are you looking for, a nice handsome boy such as yourself?"

"My sister – she's plagued with nightmares. I can hear her screaming at night. I just want her to have some peace."

"How noble of you." The man chuckled. "I'm Merlin, by the way."

"Arthur."

The man's smile turned into a smirk as he blinked – bright blue eyes turning black as night. "I know." Another blink and they returned to blue.

Arthur stood his ground, hardly phased. He'd come here for something and he wasn't leaving without it. "My deal?"

"Oh, I'm getting to it. Don't get your knickers in a twist." Merlin laughed, coming closer to the blond. He raised a hand as if to touch him, only to stop a fingers width away. "You know…You're much too pretty to have your soul doomed for hell. Perhaps we can make a different trade?"

"Like what?"

"Usually deals are sealed with a kiss. I think I'd like more than just a kiss from you."

A blush found it's way to Arthur's cheeks as he turned his gaze downwards. "I give you what you want and you'll help my sister?" He asked softly.

"You have my word, Arthur Pendragon."

Arthur nodded, determination clear in his eyes. He tilted his head forward so Merlin's fingers were touching his cheek, brushing his lips across the demon's. He gasped as he was roughly pulled against the taller man, Merlin's arm tight around his waist as their kiss was deepened. He felt more than heard Merlin's low growl as he bit at his bottom lip, Arthur's own mouth falling open as he submitted, opening under the demon's guidance.

"Beautiful." Merlin purred as he pulled back, bringing a hand up to Arthur's hair, pulling his head back to reveal his neck. Rubbing his nose across blond's throat, Merlin pressed his lips against the stretched skin, scraping his teeth over the other's jaw. Arthur let out a soft groan, his eyelids fluttering at the feeling.

"You like that? Bit of teeth?" The demon grinned, going about sucking a mark at the base of Arthur's neck. Arthur bit his lip, holding back for a moment before a sigh escaped him.

"Yes." He breathed, finding himself going half limp in Merlin's arms, trusting him to hold and guide him. Merlin seemed more than happy to do so, pulling back from the blond's neck to drag him over the signpost, pressing him against it. 

Arthur found himself pressed face first against the signpost, Merlin plastered to his back, lips brushing over the nape of his neck. "I want to eat you up." The demon murmured, fingers already working on Arthur's belt, impatiently tugging at his trousers. "Tell me I can."

"Y-You can."

Merlin practically growled at that, going to his knees behind Arthur as he pulled roughly at the other man's pants and trousers, making the blond shiver as the cool night air touched his bare skin. "Spread." He murmured, voice rough. Arthur made a soft sound at the back of his throat as he widened his stance, letting the signpost take a bit more of his weight.

That was all the invitation Merlin needed. Bringing his hands up to spread Arthur open before him, the demon leaned forward to lick a wide stripe up the other's cleft, making Arthur keen. That sound of pure pleasure was music to Merlin's ears, and he wanted to hear it again and again. He continued to work Arthur over, his fingers bruising the blond's skin, laving his tongue over the man's most intimate place. The muscle slowly started to give under his attentions, enough at least for Merlin to press a finger inside. Arthur moaned at the feeling, automatically pushing back against him.

"Touch yourself, Arthur." Merlin breathed, pulling his head back to work his finger into the blond properly. "Come for me."

Later, laying together in the grass, Merlin looked at Arthur with a soft smile. "Still using ‘Gana as an excuse to see me?" He teased. Arthur huffed, slapping lightly at Merlin's hip as they curled up under the stars.

"Shut up, Merlin."

* * *

**24**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
**Warnings:** Boxing, slightly rough sex

"Watch out for the right cross," Elyan tells him several times before the match. "I know Emrys doesn't look like much, but he's finished more fights with that cross than you've had hot dinners."

Arthur doesn't need the warning. Emrys won the 1931 prize-fight against Percival Gully, and any man that could take down Gully shouldn't be underestimated. He's heard other boxers speak of him derisively – one said he had a face so delicate, he didn't know whether to fight him or fuck him. But that was a man who Emrys had beaten in two rounds, so Arthur didn't take his word for much. 

He makes his own judgements, nowadays.

***

He doesn't see Emrys in person until they're on opposite sides of the ring. His face truly is delicate, but it's sharp at the edges too, with a thin white scar running down his left temple. His body is lean and wiry, and he reveals a labourer's tan when he strips to the waist. 

Arthur's skin is still pale, like it hasn't adjusted to his new place in the world yet, like it doesn't know he's not a Pendragon anymore. But his hands understand better. Already they're callused and hardened, the knuckles permanently bruised and painful. They know that when Uther said get out, he meant forever, and a bare knuckle boxer is all Arthur is now, all he'll ever be.

Emrys winks at him as the caller announces the fight, and Arthur stares him out. He can't think about the invitation in Emrys' grin right now; can't afford the distraction. He needs to take home the money today.

Emrys jabs out the second the bell rings and Arthur elbow blocks with ease. He swings a haymaker but Emrys ducks back. He's quick on his feet, though Arthur knew that already. But Arthur's got more blunt force behind him and he slips through Emrys guard to land an uppercut that sends the other man reeling.

He recovers quickly and they jab back and forth a while, neither landing many blows until Arthur catches Emrys with a hook to the ribs.

Suddenly Emrys is clinching him, pulling Arthur close in a strange parody of an embrace. Arthur breathes in the heady smell of the other man's sweat for a moment, feels the heat of his skin. Emrys' arms are hugging his so tight he can't move, but Arthur needs a breather too so he allows it for a few seconds before shrugging him off.

Their bodies are still very close and Arthur just has time to notice how blue Emrys' eyes are. 

And then the right cross takes him down, of course.

***

It's no surprise that he finds himself in Emrys' boarding house room three hours later, drinking cheap whiskey and comparing battle scars.

It's even less surprising when Emrys backs him up against the wall and bites a kiss onto his lips that makes Arthur dizzy with want, more punch-drunk than he's ever been in the ring. He lets Emrys throw him on the bed and then he spreads his legs, offers himself up like a prize. To the victor, the spoils.

Emrys fucks like he fights, all relentless energy; pushing Arthur further than he thinks he can go, and making him like it. He pins Arthur's hands to the bed as he thrusts into him, swallowing Arthur's moans and cries with a greedy, hungry mouth. He licks up the blood still trickling from Arthur's split lip, sucks fresh bruises into his neck; finishes what he started in the ring by marking Arthur all over as his own.

Arthur wants it – no, he _needs_ it. Needs to feel like he belongs to someone again, that he's not alone in the world.

It's only after they're done and Arthur feels the familiar shame creeping into his chest that Emrys surprises him. Wraps his arms around him with a tenderness Arthur never expected. Presses a lingering kiss to his swollen cheek, and says to call him Merlin.

"Unusual name."

"Whereas Arthur Smith is a very ordinary one. Much more ordinary than, say, Pendragon."

Arthur freezes but Merlin just hugs him closer.

"Don't hide. What happened?"

"My father disowned me."

"Why?"

Heart thumping, Arthur reaches out to stroke along Merlin's thigh.

"For this." 

Merlin's eyes are sharp in the dim light.

"More fool him."

They don't speak again, just lie together and wait for morning, when they will rise; bruised, and aching, and ready for the fight to come.

* * *

**25**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
**Warnings:** -

Arthur's cold numb fingers almost drop the lighter when he tries to fumble it out of his pocket.

Click. Nothing. He curses quietly. Clickclick. The flame stutters into life, small and pale in the damp darkness of the November night, barely enough to light the candle he is holding. The last piece of the spell.

"Emrys," he whispers and blows the candle out, wishing he didn't have to use this name. It's wrong and reluctant on Arthur's tongue, yet it's the one that works, shifting the air. A pair of eyes resembling burning coals looks up from the circle of round stones Arthur built earlier. 

"Arthur," Merlin breathes, his whole face brightening as he smiles the innocent smile that proclaims that he wears his heart in his sleeve. 

Merlin steps out of the circle – not that it was ever meant to hold him – and presses close, blessedly hiding his eyes as he does so. For a short moment Arthur pretends everything is alright again, that the Merlin in his arms is flesh and blood.

"I missed you," he mumbles into Merlin's hair. A tang of bitter smoke lingers on him.

Merlin pulls back even though Arthur tries to wordlessly tug him back in, and the fire-gold eyes look up and search his gaze, finding all of Arthur's discomfort with no effort at all. 

"I missed you too," Merlin says, voice barely above a whisper. "I miss you all the time."

Arthur kisses him to silence, half missing his lips in his desperate to hurry to bury the feelings and words that have to be said if they continue speaking. 

Merlin is instantly hot and eager against him, lips parting and tongue licking out to Arthur's mouth. Their bodies press so close it's almost uncomfortable, every inch that can possibly touch touching, and yet they need to be closer. Joined.

"Tell me we can go somewhere?" Merlin says, his wet lips brushing against Arthur's with every word. 

"Hotel." He nips Merlin's lips lightly, unable to resist. It's been a long forever and Arthur wants. Every cell of his body is screaming for Merlin. "Fifteen minutes."

With Merlin there in his arms, full of familiar angles and smooth skin and lips screaming sex, fifteen minutes sounds like an eternity, and from the pitiful whine Merlin lets out Arthur figures he probably agrees. 

"Car?" he asks. 

Merlin answers by shoving him backwards with his body while his hands fondle Arthur buttocks, and oh fuck Arthur really wants the pants out of the way so Merlin can scratch and bite and lick –

He stumbles over a stray branch and with a curse turns partially away from Merlin to drag them through the bushes to the car and to the roomy leather covered backseats. 

The sound of their laboured breaths fills the air between them, and Arthur takes the moment of stillness to appreciate how utterly wrecked Merlin looks, black hair sticking everywhere and tiny droplets of sweat glistening on his skin. With unsteady hands Merlin reaches to fumble with Arthur's buttons, but he stops halfway, utterly useless. Luckily Arthur has no problems with getting rid of both his shirt and Merlin's black hoodie. 

It's no more graceful than it was when they were sixteen because car sex in never graceful (at least this time Merlin doesn't elbow him in the face) but they manage to get at least somewhat undressed, every touch of skin against skin singing a song of longing and pleasure. 

It's a song that builds to crescendo far too quickly as Arthur hastily prepares Merlin with two lubed fingers and thrusts his rock hard cock in. A couple of vicious shoves that are sure to leave carpet burn on Merlin's lovely back, with his fingers wrapped around Merlin's cock smearing precome on Arthur's stomach, and they are both gone, flying after one another and then crashing down, disgusting but momentarily content. 

"I'm not going to eat your soul, you know?" Merlin says into his ear after a moment. 

"Wha'?" His mind hasn't quite managed to connect with reality yet.

Wordlessly Merlin reaches up, wrapping his fingers around the thin chain holding a silver cross around his neck. It's carved with old words, meant to protect his soul from demons. 

"Morgana insisted – I meant to take it off. I'm sorry."

Merlin's inhuman eyes continue burning and Arthur hates himself for the lie.

Merlin kisses him softly. "I love you."

"I love you too." This – at least – is the truth.

* * *

**26**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
**Warnings:** none

"Thou Shalt Not… _Worship_ ," the word was punctuated by Arthur's mouth dragging up along Merlin's neck to his ear. "False…Idols." His lips teased his flesh as he whispered the end of the commandment.

Shivers shot up Merlin's back and he found himself rooted to the spot. 

"That's…" he felt his throat dry up around his half-hearted complaint.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Arthur's smirk. "Oh, were you wanting the full decree?" his fingers traced over Merlin's Adam's apple. "I am the LORD your God," Merlin's body was pressed against the stone wall behind him, "who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage." The heat of Arthur's hands burned through his robes against his hips. "You shall have no other gods before Me."

Arthur's face was far too close to his own and Merlin could feel his breath against his skin. He had no idea what made him turn his head just slightly, but that was all that was needed to stop Arthur's recital of the First Commandment. 

The kiss was one of desperation, leaving Merlin overwhelmed by the desire Arthur plundered him with.

He had always harbored doubt to Arthur's devotion; the man had always been one to ultimately follow his stubborn head rather than his cleansed heart, even when they had been young choirboys.

But to feel Arthur's manhood pressing so insistently against his thigh, to taste his tongue, to hear the his small moans, to realize just how far Arthur had been led astray…

…And it was because of him.

Guilt washed through Merlin and he tried to twist away. 

" _Don't_ ," Arthur hissed. His hands clenched into fists as they came to rest against the wall on either side of Merlin's head. "I've seen the way you look at me. It's all I've had to comfort me with this, and I can't…I wasn't raised within the church like you were and can't just ignore what I feel the way you can. 

"I've done all I can to lead a righteous life while surrounded by my father's riches and comforts. Let me have this one sin." Arthur's eyes rose to meet Merlin's own. "Please."

Merlin was fairly certain several sins were being committed here, but had a feeling that was not something Arthur wanted to hear. 

He looked away towards the giant cross that hung from the vaulted ceiling. He knew he should deny Arthur. Direct him to the confessional where he could beg for forgiveness and seek advice on how to be rid of such feelings.

But Merlin also knew if he did such a thing, he would need to be next in line for the small booth. Because everything he did, he did for Arthur. Every decision he made, every emotion he felt, was always with Arthur on his mind. He had been placed on this earth _for_ Arthur. It was a simple fact of their life, one that even the bishop of the church often stated whenever he discovered Arthur had come to seek Merlin's council.

And just like he had when they were boys, Merlin found himself giving in to Arthur's demand. 

Because who was he to deny the one thing he had ever considered putting before God?

* * *

**27**

**Pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin**  
**Warnings: Er, slightly dubious historical accuracy.**  
**Summary: Arthur is three weeks into his reign as king when he must order his first execution.**

Merlin blinks awake to the sound of Arthur dry heaving over the chamber pot. 

They're quiet, muffled sounds, as though Arthur's trying to stifle them entirely. It takes more willpower than he'd like to stay where he is – to give Arthur the space he needs to be vulnerable. 

Merlin sits up when he hears Arthur's soft footsteps crossing the room. It's too dark too see, but the bed dips as he crawls back into bed. When he settles, Merlin reaches out to run his knuckles down the knobs of his bare spine. Arthur shivers. 

There's a lull of silence, and then moans of pain filter in through the window that overlooks the town square. Arthur flips onto his back, hands coming up to cover his ears.

"God, make it stop. Please make it stop."

Merlin shuffles out of bed and towards the open window. He can't make out the post, but Merlin can make out the silhouettes of the guards around it; can make out the figure tied to the cross, still alive hours after Arthur had ordered the execution.

He shuts the window and draws the curtains, drenching the room in silence.

Merlin doesn't settle beside Arthur again, instead crawls beneath the velvet duvet and over him, straddling his hips. Neither of them is dressed, and the skin-on-skin contact is charged with something hot and intense. 

Merlin grasps Arthur's wrists to pull them away from where they're still pressed over his ears. He rubs his thumbs over Arthur's pulse -- slow, delicate motions to ease the creases in Arthur's forehead.

"What have I done?" Arthur whispers into the empty space between them. He lets out a shuddery breath, and Merlin slides his fingers between Arthur's, guiding their hands to settle above his head. 

"Merlin."

Merlin shushes him, leans down to nuzzle Arthur's neck. "Let me take care of you."

Merlin feels out of his depth. He wants desperately to ease Arthur's anguish, but he doesn't know how – because Arthur will always carry on his shoulders burdens that aren't his own.

Instead, he tries what he knows, hopes that it'll be enough.

Merlin sucks along Arthur's jaw, stopping when they're face-to-face, mouths barely grazing one another. Arthur's lips part, moist breaths warming Merlin's own.

 

It's rare, for Merlin to have Arthur so pliant and willing beneath his hands. Merlin wishes the circumstances were different.

He licks a stripe along Arthur's bottom lip, leans forward to catch it between his teeth and suckle on it gently.

Arthur shifts then, and they both groan when their cocks brush against one another. Merlin had meant to take it slow, but he can't help rolling his hips again and again, until he feels Arthur harden against him.

"Wanna be inside you," Merlin breathes -- heavy and ragged -- into Arthur's mouth. "Will you let me?"

Arthur meets his eyes and nods, hips still thrusting upwards even as Merlin moves off of him.

"Turn over for me," Merlin says, and Arthur does. 

Merlin feels for the vial of oil beneath the pillow; there isn't quite enough, but Merlin pours out the last of it over his fingers and cock anyway.

The first press of his fingers draws a gasp from Arthur, has him pushing back even though the position doesn't grant him any leverage. What they lack in quantity, Merlin makes up for in quality. He takes his time stretching Arthur, pushing in and out until Arthur's writhing beneath him.

"Merlin," he pants. "Merlin, please."

It's the desperation in his voice that breaks Merlin. He plasters himself against Arthur's back, puts a hand between Arthur and the mattress to pull him up just as he pushes in. It's hot and wet and too much and not enough all at the same time. 

They gain a steady rhythm, and Merlin braces a hand just beside where Arthur's leaning on his forearms. He latches onto the juncture between Arthur's neck and shoulder, sucks until he's sure it'll bruise. 

"You did the right thing," he whispers, free hand sliding to Arthur's leaking cock. "You did the right thing."

He strokes Arthur's cock; the combination of pre-come and his oily fingers makes it quick and slick.

When Arthur comes, it's with a shudder and croaked sob that Merlin pretends not to hear. 

When Merlin comes, it's with the knowledge that, even though Arthur is now king, he is human first and foremost, and it'll often be Merlin's job to remind Arthur that that's okay.

* * *

**28**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Jethro Cane  
**Warnings:** N/A

"You can leave the cuffs on."

That got him a cheeky grin as Jethro discarded his t-shirt. "Kinky."

"You walk around in those things every bloody day and _I'm_ the kinky one?"  
Not that Arthur was complaining; the first he'd seen Jethro had been dressed from head to toe in black, with leather wrist-cuffs and very tight jeans. That alone had been almost enough to undo him. The sight of Jethro's lips wrapped around his dick later that night had been the end of him. 

"You are definitely the kinky one." Jethro grinned again and closed the gap between them. "You are always trying to be in control, you're far too comfortable giving orders."

Grasping hold of the wrist-cuffs in one hand, he had Jethro's body pinned to the bed in seconds. Arthur looked down at him and raised an eyebrow "Trying?" 

Jethro made a cursory attempt to get away, squirming under Arthur's grip but he was held firm and Jethro dropped back against the bed in faked submission. Ignoring Arthur's comment he went for a new tactic. "Are you going to make this worth my while or not?"

"Maybe I'll just make you wait here for a while," Arthur replied smugly. 

Jethro bucked his hips up towards Arthur but ended up falling short. He pouted but Arthur just laughed and enjoyed the view. Jethro wasn't his normal type but there was something about him that Arthur couldn't quite put his finger on. Almost like a feeling of familiarity in someone he'd only known a few weeks.

Maybe one day he would be able to explain it but for now he would just enjoy what he had beneath him. Finally caving, Arthur leaned down to capture Jethro's lips in his own. He used his free hand to stroke Jethro's dick through his jeans, grinning when he felt Jethro gasp against him.

Fighting with his own self control, Arthur released Jethro's wrists and tugged on his jeans. "Lose these, now."

Jethro didn't argue with him, wriggling out of his jeans and grabbing a condom from the side as Arthur quickly removed his own clothes and joined him back on the bed. 

Not letting Arthur get the upper hand this time, Jethro made short work of rolling the condom down Arthur's erection and straddling him. Arthur moaned at the sensation as he sunk deep into Jethro's warmth. 

Arthur groaned in frustration as Jethro didn't move. He pushed his hips up but Jethro wouldn't budge. "Maybe I'll just make you wait here for a while." He mocked.

"You wouldn't." Arthur challenged.

Jethro just leaned back with a grin. "Try me." 

Arthur reached out and took hold of Jethro's dick, slowly stroking his balls as Jethro started to squirm on top of him. It didn't take long until Jethro caved and started moving. Arthur kept up the stroking in time to Jethro's movements and felt a familiar warmth building up in his stomach. 

Jethro stifled a shout as he came, and watching it pushed Arthur over the edge as well. Jethro fell forward against Arthur's chest and they lay together in comfort. 

"Think I won that one," Arthur grinned.

Jethro huffed against his chest but made no effort to move. "You fight dirty." 

Looking at the mess of come that now covered both of them, Arthur couldn't really argue with him. But he didn't see anyone complaining about it.

* * *


	3. Group C (warnings)

**29.**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warnings:** Step-sibling incest, underage, unprotected sex, rough sex

"Fucking wanker!" Arthur pounced on Merlin, slammed him against the fridge. "You put icing sugar in my protein shake powder!" He grabbed Merlin's t-shirt and shook him, made his head bounce. "Didn't you?"

Merlin's smirk made Arthur's blood boil. He wanted– he wanted to–

Morgana tore him away. 

"Jesus Christ! Just behave, will you? We're all a family now. And you," she turned to Merlin, who'd hid behind Freya, "leave Arthur's stuff alone. Next time I might not be here to save you."

"We promised mum we'd help her and your dad at the village fête," Freya said. "Can we leave you two on your own?"

Arthur sneered. "Have fun playing happy families."

Morgana shook her head, but she grabbed her car keys and they left, muttering something about idiot little brothers. 

Merlin disappeared upstairs.

Arthur paced the room for twenty minutes, enough to make sure they weren't coming back, then hurried after him.

He found Merlin in bed with his laptop, probably coding or something. 

"Our parents used all the icing sugar to make adorable fairy cakes," he said as Arthur entered. "Still, good thinking. I'll need an excuse for the bruises."

Arthur itched to touch him again. "The bruises?"

"The ones you'll give me." 

Merlin removed his glasses, folded them, and left them and the laptop on the nightstand. 

Arthur took it as his cue. He lept on Merlin, using his greater strength to tag Merlin's shoulders and pin him down. 

"You want bruises?" he leaned in, so he could whisper the words in Merlin's ear with a snarl. "I'll give you bruises." He bit Merlin's earlobe, just enough to make Merlin whine, then went on, all the way down Merlin's neck.

They'd long since overstepped the boundaries for acceptable behaviour between step-brothers. 

They couldn't help themselves. It was just something between them: a build-up of energy that could only be released through sex. They weren't gay, that was the weirdest part. They were like straight lines intersecting: a disrupted criss-cross pattern that had become their lives.

"Do your friends know what a huge slut you are, Pendragon?" Merlin said, showing teeth. 

"Oh, shut up." Arthur gathered Merlin's arms, grabbed his wrists. He took them both in one hand. "Just shut up."

Merlin licked his lips. "Come on, skull fuck me." 

But Arthur needed more. He peeled off his shorts. Then, like a junkie desperate for a hit, he pushed down Merlin's pyjama bottoms. The sight of Merlin's cock made him moan.

He reached for the lube, and opened the cap with his teeth. He drizzled Merlin's shaft, fisted it a couple of times, then reached behind himself. 

He was still sore from fucking in the garden shed last night, but the frequency with which Merlin's dick found its way up his arse had made him permanently loose. He hadn't been able to just stick a finger up himself before, but now he could take two, no problem. 

He had to take them out to pull his top over his head. He liked being naked while Merlin wasn't; it made him feel good and slutty. 

He seated himself, took Merlin's cock all the way. 

"Shit." He closed his eyes. "Oh, fuck me, that's good."

Merlin began thrashing under him. He didn't stand a chance, but Arthur appreciated that he tried. Between his own movements and Merlin's, he was being given a fuck that left his cock dribbling from the prostate stimulation.

Only once he'd come did he allow Merlin to top. And then he just lay there, with Merlin's hands on his thighs – keeping him spread and open – and took it. He liked coming first, so he could have the humiliating thrill of being fucked through the ache-y phase when his body just wanted to be left alone. 

Merlin finished with a gasp; reluctant, as if someone was stealing the come from his cock. And then he fell on top of Arthur, struggling for air. 

After a few moments, Arthur reached for the inhaler on the nightstand. Merlin took it, sucked at it. Arthur held him as Merlin's breath returned to normal. He sort of wanted to kiss him, but that wasn't something they did.

"Hey," he said. "I'm having ice cream. You want some?"

Merlin nodded, tired. He rolled to a side and allowed Arthur to get out and get dressed.

Arthur stared at him for a few moments – at the black hair and white skin and that _mouth_ – and then he went downstairs; sticky, still leaking Merlin's jizz.

* * *

**30.**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warnings:** none

_Doullens,  
15.07.1916  
A new batch arrived today, straight from the trenches. At least a third won't make it. The rest we'll fix up and send back for the Germans to try again. One of mine is a Tommy lieutenant. No tags, no letters. His leg is a bloody mess and there's the beginning of infection. Jury's still out on that one. _

_17.07.1916  
The lieutenant is still delirious. Cleaned his wound with some rotgut, while Percy held him down. He's quite the handsome fellow once the blood and grime is gone. Would be a real shame. Hope he at least wakes long enough to give a name. Bloody hate it when they are unidentified._

_18.07.1916  
Night shifts are the worst. In the silence you can hear every rattling breath, the crying and that final gasp just before they go. Most men die at dawn, with the hope of a new day on the horizon. I'm sitting with my lieutenant again. I know I shouldn't pick favourites, but I keep thinking “This one. Please let this one survive.” _

_20.07.1916  
The fever finally broke. Merci a Dieu. His name is Arthur Pendragon._

_22.07.1916  
Stubborn prat! Does he think I sewed him back together just so that he can go and ruin all my work because he's too embarrassed to use a bedpan? Told him I had seen it all already. He blushed like a schoolboy. Highlight of my day. _

_25.07.1916  
Lieutenant Pendragon insists that he can walk. Never mind that I'm the medic. Contemplated shackling him to the bed, but then agreed on the condition that he uses a crutch and lets me help him. Ended up hopping around camp together, while he doubted my expertise and I insulted his intelligence. Obviously a match made in heaven. I want to bang his head against a hard surface. ~~Or kiss his stupid mouth raw.~~_

_01.08.1916  
Arthur's leg is healing well, so our walks get steadily longer. Today we went all the way down to the river. Shared a cigarette under the old willow tree, courtesy of an American who died this morning. Death is our steady companion, and I know there's nothing stupider than falling for someone who'll be back in the trenches by autumn. But he's here now, radiant and alive, and dear God, I can't help myself. _

_08.08.1916  
Arthur has started to strip down to his undershirt and braces in the heat. It's the sweetest torture I've ever had to submit to. I can't take my eyes from where he's lying next to me in the tall summer grass, like Apollo come to walk amongst the mortals. I want to lean closer and taste the sweat from his collarbone, discover the sensitive peaks of his nipples with my lips, and bury my face into the crease of his thigh. To part his legs and inhale the musky, male scent of him, to feel the weight of his length on my tongue. It's possible that I'm going insane._

_16.08.1916  
He kissed me. My god. I didn't let myself imagine– Hope is such a rare commodity these days, and I know there's only one way for this to end. Still, I will charge forward blindly, like a lamb to the slaughter, drunk on his kisses, soft and warm, and with a lingering trace of crisp green apples._

_23.08.1916  
I wish we could stay here forever, in this cocoon of peace and sunshine. A world without war, and instead filled with sun-warmed skin under my palms and slow, wet kisses. With tasting each other in all the forbidden places. Arthur's mouth on me, as he kneels between my legs, his blond head bowed as if in prayer. Making him come with my fingers inside him and my name on his lips._

_What if we had met before the world went mad? What if we could just go home?_

_31.08.1916  
Arthur's leg is better, the limp almost gone. Every morning I wonder if today will be the day I lose him, and it only makes me need him more. I want him to bury himself inside me until it hurts, until all I feel is him. I want to write myself into his skin with lips and teeth and fingers so that he'll carry me with him, always. _

_15.09.1916  
He told me he loved me when he came to say goodbye. He must have known for a while. I couldn't say it back. Damn this all to hell._

_16.09.1916  
But I do. God, I do. Please. Please be safe. Please come back to me._

* * *

**31.**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana  
 **Warnings:** racism and implied homophobia

“They’ll be looking for two women,” Gwen says near midnight, as they cross into Texas, “one white and one colored.”

The next day she cuts Morgana’s hair in the restroom of a friendly service station in Wichita Falls. She helps bind her chest in a strip of cloth cut from Morgana’s old skirt, helps button up the crisp checkered shirt she bought in Dallas with her daddy’s stolen money. Dizzy and desperate and falling on her feet, Morgana still rouses to Gwen’s touch, tries to kiss her like James Dean with Natalie Wood on the movie screen.

“Not here,” Gwen says firmly. “Get me to California first.”

It doesn’t seem possible, not with Texas stretching harsh and endless in every direction. But others have ridden the highways across this continent before them – hundreds of thousands of their parents’ generation, and a steady stream of dreamers and misfits ever since. After he arrived in Los Angeles three years ago, Gwen’s brother sent her a list of hotels and restaurants that wouldn’t turn Negroes away. They didn’t have time to bring any such papers with them, and they’re too scared to stop anywhere yet, but Gwen knows the list by heart. Just as Morgana remembers Elena’s letter from San Francisco: “I never dreamed there could be so many girls like us in the world, let alone in one city.”

Morgana feels lighter as soon as they step outside. The desert wind steals the sweat from her bare neck. “If he’d sent the authorities after us, they would’ve stopped us by now,” she says.

Gwen grips the steering wheel and says nothing, but she’s breathing easier than before. 

They drive all day and into the night, and the state troopers never pull them over. They finally stop at a smart Negro-owned motel just across the state line into New Mexico. Gwen goes to take a shower and Morgana looks around the room: a double bed, a table and a mirror, a blanket on the wall with an Indian design. She could weep at the strangeness, the abundance, the anonymity. 

And then there’s her reflection. Close up she doesn’t look much like a man, but not what she’s ever thought a woman could be either. Whether or not it worked as a disguise, she’s certain she looks more like herself than she ever has.

When Gwen comes out naked and dripping Morgana forgets about herself and goes to her knees. “You’re so beautiful,” she breathes.

“I’m the same as before,” says Gwen, laughing and running her hand through Morgana’s cropped hair. Morgana doesn’t quite agree but she nods, thrilling at the coupled sensations of Gwen’s hand at the back of her neck, the warm wet skin of Gwen’s belly on her cheek, and Gwen’s pubic hair tickling her chin. She starts to press in with her mouth but Gwen stops her and says, “Not after two days without sleep. Come on.”

They kiss as they fall into bed. Gwen says, “I want your hand,” and Morgana gives it, uses the tip of her thumb to caress Gwen’s vulva while the knuckle presses against her clitoris. Gwen smiles and then whimpers and then pulls her into place, so soon Morgana’s rocking strong and steady against her, her fist held firm between them while the weight of her body gives them the pressure they need. She concentrates everything on drawing those little moans out of Gwen, matching her movements to the pleasure she can hear. There’s no joy like the sound of Gwen’s voice breaking with her release, nothing to make Morgana more proud.

Morgana holds Gwen close as her breathing subsides. Kisses her cheek and then quickly, quietly finishes herself off with her fingers. 

“You’re not the same as before,” she says at length. Because Gwen’s lovely and sweet and practical as ever, but she looks different in the sunny dry colors of Tucumcari than in the stifling white of Morgana’s room in Baton Rouge. Her own colors are deeper, truer, now she’s not the judge’s daughter’s maid – and never will be again – but just Gwen. 

And they’ll never have to worry about _what will we do if he walks in_ , because that’s already happened, and they’ve survived. Or at least they’re surviving.

“Get me to California,” Gwen murmurs, half asleep, and Morgana swears she will. Tomorrow they’ll leave this place behind and start again. They’ll drive their way out of the desert and dream a brand new life at the edge of the ocean.

* * *

**32.**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warnings:** None

C is for Cherry

Arthur got whatever he wanted from Camelot’s longsuffering cook. With his handsome face and chivalrous ways, he could charm the cook out of any exotic fruit or fresh vegetable that arrived to her larder. He was the first to taste many delicacies, sometimes long before the rest of the castle even knew such treasures existed. And so it surprised no one when Arthur trotted up the stairs to his bedchamber with Merlin close behind him and a sack of fresh cherries in his grasp.

Not fifteen minutes later, Arthur had Merlin naked and trussed on the bed. The soft cords that had once held back the bed-curtains were slipped behind Merlin’s knees to hold his thighs spread wide. His cock had already hardened so much that it now lay flat against Merlin’s belly.

Arthur stood with his hands on his hips, admiring the sight of all that pale flesh and quivering muscle.

Merlin’s arse waited for Arthur’s attention.

“Lie still now,” Arthur said, falling into the space between Merlin’s legs. His hot breath tickled Merlin’s bare thighs as he squirmed on the bed.

Arthur’s fingers lightly brushed the few sprigs of hair that grew from Merlin’s balls. He murmured as he traced the long line of Merlin’s cock, until he reached the droplets of anticipation that seeped from its slit.

“Arthur,” Merlin panted breathlessly. “Get on with it, prat.”

Arthur petted Merlin’s belly and reached for the sack, pulling out a ripe cherry by its stem.

“So impatient,” Arthur whispered.

He could only imagine the sensation caused by the plump cherry that he traced over Merlin’s hole. Biting down on his tongue, Arthur watched the impossibly tiny furl as it twitched with every sweep of the fruit against it. 

“Oh, right there,” Merlin said, moaning at the slide of the cool fruit against his most intimate flesh.

Arthur pressed his fingertip on the cherry and watched as Merlin’s hole stretched to accept it.

Merlin jerked at the intrusion, his hands fisting the sheets, but Arthur didn’t make Merlin strain for long against the firm fruit. He gave the cherry a little push until it slipped inside, its stem poking out like a tiny flagpole in search of a banner.

Arthur smiled and lowered his mouth to Merlin’s hole.

Merlin whimpered as Arthur let his tongue dance along the rim. Each lick of his tongue made Merlin sob louder.

When he grew tired of teasing, Arthur grasped the cherry stem between his teeth and tugged gently until it exited with a plop. With one hand splayed wide on Merlin’s quaking inner thigh, Arthur bit the cherry in half, spitting the pit onto the floor for Merlin to take care of later. Taking the cherry half between two fingers, Arthur traced Merlin’s rim with the moist fruit, leaving a trail of painted juice around his hole.

“So pretty,” Arthur said, sitting back on his heels to admire his work.

Merlin let out a shuddering sigh.

“Just like a lady of the court,” Arthur said, leaning over to kiss Merlin, plunging his tongue into his sweetened hole, seeking the hidden place inside Merlin that made his sobs turn into unrestrained moans of pleasure.

Bracing himself with both Merlin’s thighs hoisted into the crook of his arms, Arthur licked and burrowed into Merlin’s arse, the most luscious feast he had ever enjoyed in all of Albion.

Merlin bore down, seeking more of Arthur’s tongue and lips.

Arthur managed to get a fist around Merlin’s cock. He could feel Merlin thrashing his head back and forth in utter bliss. After a few more deep plunges of Arthur’s tongue, Merlin’s body seized beneath Arthur’s hands. Merlin’s cock spurted his milky come onto his belly, the bedding, and Arthur’s fingers.

Arthur released Merlin from the cords that held him. Stretching out beside Merlin, Arthur pulled him into an embrace. 

When Merlin’s trembling stopped, Arthur reached over and dug through the cabinet at his bedside. Finding what he sought, he touched the tip of his inked quill to the parchment.

Beneath the _carrot_ and _celery_ which had already been crossed out, Arthur crossed _cherries_ off their list with a flourish.

He couldn’t help but grin with anticipation when he saw that, for their next play time, there would be _cucumber_.

* * *

**33.**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warnings:** none

This was not what Arthur had been expecting when he had snapped at Merlin to make him a new coat, to make up for the one he had ruined by spilling Arthur’s lunch on it, and then promptly setting it on fire while trying to fix the stain. Then, Arthur had spent the next few minutes yelling at Merlin, at the end of which, Merlin had made that ridiculous face he made when performing any kind of magical spell, and Arthur had felt soft fabric materialize out of thin air and drape over his body.

The problem with the whole thing was that, the coat that Arthur was expecting wasn’t a coat at all. It was a dress. It was red dress with patterns of gold on it. The sleeves were made of the same flimsy fabric that Morgana’s dress sleeves sometimes had. Arthur was wearing a dress. 

Arthur stared down at himself for a few seconds, and then looked back up at Merlin.

Merlin was watching him with wide eyes, his mouth slightly parted, and his eyes were trailing over Arthur’s body. Arthur shifted a bit uncomfortably, and watched as the startled expression on Merlin’s face slid into—something else. Pink spots appeared high on Merlin’s cheeks, and his breath came out rougher, his pupils blown.

Arthur swallowed, and then cleared his throat.

Merlin jerked, the blush darkening on his face, and finally looked up and caught Arthur’s gaze.

“At least the colour is right,” he said shakily, his voice deeper than usual, a bit huskier. Arthur would have said something snappy in response to that annoying statement if not for the fact that Merlin was looking at him like—that. Like he wanted to tear off this dress from Arthur’s body and—and ravage him.

Arthur didn’t necessarily object to the tearing part. Or the ravaging part. Not at all. He felt his insides tighten, and his cock twitched. He was just about to say something (because Merlin had gone back to looking Arthur up and down and was making no move to strip this hideous piece of clothing off of him) when Merlin looked up at him through his eyelashes. And oh gods. He looked absolutely lickable like that.

And then, Merlin said “Sire,” in that deep voice, and Arthur almost felt his knees go weak. But, he was the Crown Prince of Camelot, and crown princes don’t get week knees over their ridiculous manservants. So Arthur just cleared his throat authoritatively and took one step back and sat down on his bed. The dress was tight, and he couldn’t spread his legs quite the way he wanted to, but the problem was swiftly taken care of when Merlin’s eyes flared gold and the dress tore in half from below the waist, revealing Arthur’s cock, which at this point was hard and begging for attention.

Merlin didn’t waste time in dropping to his knees in front of Arthur and sliding between Arthur’s legs. He took the head of Arthur’s cock in his mouth and gave it a firm suck. Arthur choked and threw his head back, closing his eyes and letting Merlin do whatever he pleased with him, focusing solely on the wet heat of Merlin’s mouth around his cock.

Well, he thought as Merlin made a humming sound that nearly made him scream, there were a few advantages to failed magical spells, after all.

* * *

**34.**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warnings:** None

Arthur pauses at the door, scuffing the toes of his boots on the stoop. But no- he made his decision. Squaring his shoulders, he knocks.

Merlin doesn't smile when he answers, only nods hello at Arthur's grimace.

Arthur follows him down the hall, toeing off his shoes as he goes and stopping in the doorway to watch Merlin slip back into the blanket nest on the couch.

He looks comfortable there, TV remote within easy reach.

Merlin reaches out and clicks off the TV. "Well?"

Arthur shrugs off his jacket, unknots his tie, dropping it to the floor as he pads over. Merlin leans back as Arthur towers above him, until he's at just the right angle for a kiss, Arthur's knee jammed into the cushions, Merlin's neck a needy arch under him. Merlin's pliable against his hands, limbs stretching out as Arthur covers him with his body.

There's a question in Merlin's eyes when they break apart, but Arthur bites at his neck instead, sucking lightly to ease the sting as he works his way under the loose collar of Merlin's t-shirt.

Merlin makes a little noise when Arthur licks over his collarbone, and his hands fly reflexively to Arthur's hips, fingertips digging into the muscles of his ass. 

Arthur's lips are tingling. Merlin's eyes are so, so dark. 

Arthur sits up, making Merlin's breath suck in and his eyelids flutter at the brief pressure on his cock.

Arthur's breathing is shallow as he unbuttons his cuffs, then his collar, working his way down the buttons one by one. Merlin watches him, eyes moving in little flicks as his chest heaves up and down.

The shirt gets dropped on the floor, Arthur's undershirt soon following. His belt clicks loudly as he shoves down his trousers.

Merlin stops him, fingers cool on Arthur's wrist as he wriggles out of his pajama pants, cock flush against his stomach.

Arthur has to kiss him, not on his bitten lips this time, but the pale skin just above his hip, soft and vulnerable so that Merlin cries out underneath him, shirt riding up above his belly button.

Fingernails scrabble at his neck, pulling the short hairs there before soothing him as Arthur changes course to lay delicate licks to the head of Merlin's cock.

Merlin pushes him back though, searching for something, before producing a bottle of lube and a condom from behind a pillow.

Arthur licks his lips, but his hands don't shake as he takes them. He doesn't have to narrow his eyes, Merlin's already nodding, pushing his pants the rest of the way off his thighs.

Merlin's tight, is the thing. Arthur can feel the strain in his thighs as he kisses them, shushing when Merlin can't help but make a noise. Arthur has to nuzzle into his hipbone as he works a third finger in, Merlin's eyes locked with his, pupils blown.

Merlin's shaking when Arthur finally pushes in. Maybe both of them are. But Merlin only clutches tighter when Arthur hesitates, pulling closer, his hands restless on Arthur's ass. Arthur doesn't ask if he's okay. Merlin is one long line of tension below him, head thrown back, hips hitching downward as Arthur works his way in.

Arthur gives him a minute, though Merlin clearly doesn't want one, knees tightening around Arthur's waist, eyes fierce now that he's finally opened them. 

The first time Arthur pulls back and thrusts in, Merlin groans. The second time, Arthur doesn't hold back. Merlin arches into it, gasping, and Arthur shifts his hips, satisfied when it draws out a whine.

Arthur has to kiss him as he does it again and again, Merlin's mouth lush and wet. Arthur props himself up to reach down and tug at Merlin's cock, making his lips go clumsy. 

Merlin cries out when he comes, hips jerking as Arthur milks his cock dry, ass clenching down on Arthur's cock. Arthur buries his face in Merlin's neck as he comes, hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. He has to wait to lift his head and deal with the condom.

Merlin hands him a tissue, after, but Arthur kisses him instead, smoothing over his cheek with a thumb.

"I can't," he whispers, before he pulls away and picks up his shirt.

"I know," Merlin says. He watches, silent as Arthur buttons his cuffs. He doesn't say goodbye. Arthur doesn't look back.

He pauses in the entry, drops his key in the little bowl on the sidetable, then leaves.

* * *

**35.**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warnings:** None

It is a well known fact within the kingdom of Camelot that Merlin is Arthur’s favoured concubine.

“They say that I’ve been enchanted by you,” Arthur groans, eyes barely opened as he lays on the bed, Merlin bouncing on his cock. “Gods,” he groans, head thrown back, mouth parted as he tightens his grip on Merlin’s hips, no doubt leaving bruises. “ _Merlin._ ”

“That’s—” Merlin pants out, swivelling his hips in a way that has Arthur cursing out his pleasure, “Entirely your fault.” It makes Merlin smile with the knowledge that he’s the cause of Arthur being in such a state, mindless with lust and free of the royal responsibilities that normally burdens him. Merlin laughs, breathless as he pulls up until only the tip of Arthur’s cock is within him before sinking down again. He’ll never tire of this, the sensation of being stuffed full of Arthur’s royal prick. He takes one of Arthur’s hands, brings it up to lips to kiss the calloused fingers, sucks on them with a loud moan. 

Arthur eyes glint mischievously. “Is that so?” 

It is _entirely_ Arthur’s fault. It’s almost shameless how blatantly he favours Merlin. It’s something that both exasperates and endears Merlin. Arthur’s never been like this _before_ Merlin, so it’s natural for the court to speculate about King’s open affections towards his concubine.

Merlin’s thrown onto his back in a matter of seconds, Arthur’s body caging his own, gripping his wrists above his head. Merlin whimpers, trapped and feeling so _desperately_ empty now that Arthur’s no longer inside him.

After a moment of silence, Arthur shrugs.“I suppose that’s true…” Panting, he nuzzles at Merlin’s neck, nipping and licking a trail until he reaches the ruby-studded crucifix resting upon Merlin’s sternum. It is a heavy ornament, intricate and detailed, warmed by Merlin's heat. It’s the one thing Merlin always wears; proof of his King's favour, showing anyone who sets their eyes upon it that Merlin is Arthur’s most precious possession, protected by royal decree, and those who dare harm him in any way face the wrath of the King.

Arthur kisses it, tenderly as he would any other part of Merlin. 

Merlin knows better than to beg, no matter how much his own cock aches, needing to be touched. Arthur may be King, but he’s still a prat first and foremost. Begging only leads to Arthur teasing him more, so all Merlin can do is take and accept whatever Arthur deems to give him. 

“Yes!” Merlin cries out, writhing on the bed, spreading his legs slut-wide, hoping that it’ll be enough to entice Arthur to fuck him proper.

It is. 

They groan in unison when Arthur presses his cock in, bottoming out. The pleasant stretch burns, the weight of cock against his sweet spot is almost enough to have Merlin orgasming. 

Instinctively, Merlin’s body clenches around the welcome intrusion. Arms still trapped, he wraps his legs around Arthur’s hips, trying to pull him closer, trying to make him _move_.

They fuck with abandon, moving and rutting against each other with a carnal mindlessness. The only thing that comes out of Arthur’s mouth are soft grunts and heavy panting, only silenced when he takes a breadth of a moment to nip on Merlin’s ears, his lip, his neck. 

 

Grunting with the effort, Merlin bucks his hips upwards, greedy for more. The feeling of his cock against Arthur’s skin, of being filled, of having his sweet spot rubbed against over and over again sends Merlin over the brink and he comes with a voiceless scream, shooting his load over his own belly. 

Arthur freezes. “M-Merlin,” he utters with a shudder, as Merlin’s muscles ripple around his cock, miking him. He comes then, spills deep inside Merlin with a groan.

They share sloppy, lazy kisses as Arthur continues to fuck into Merlin until it becomes too much. He pulls away, cock over-sensitised. It’s only when Arthur is spent in every sense of the word that he lets go of his grip on Merlin’s wrists, cuddles and holds him close like a beloved cushion. 

Arthur is King, he carries the weight of his people and kingdom upon his shoulders. That is his cross to bear, but Merlin will be damned if he doesn’t bully Arthur into sharing the burden.

* * *

**36.**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Gwen/Arthur  
 **Warnings:** Crossdressing

The king and queen had withdrawn to their private chamber for the evening. 

Arthur sprawled in front of the fire, the laces of his shirt undone. Gwen had changed out of her royal gown into a simple night-robe. 

Merlin turned to leave. “If there's nothing else, I'll be going. Good night.”

Gwen's discarded dress was draped over a chair near the door. Merlin couldn't help sliding his palm over the luxurious fabric as he walked by. The silk was the bright color of cornflowers. 

“Merlin, please wait.” Gwen reached out, touching his arm. “You like my dress, don't you? Would you like to try it on?”

“What? Oh no, not this again!” Merlin shook his head vigorously. “I do _not_ want to wear dresses!” 

Arthur's eyes glinted in the firelight. “We don't believe you.”

Gwen nodded. “You don't have to hide from us, Merlin.”

Merlin swallowed. He looked away, hesitating. “Maybe, just once...”

"Do it," Arthur urged him. "You'll look good."

Merlin blinked. 

Gwen's voice was kind. “Changing behind the screen may make it easier.” 

She gave his arm a fond little squeeze before opening her closet. “You need a shift and petticoat too, of course. These will do.” 

In a daze, Merlin accepted the delicate garments and stumbled behind the screen. He could hardly breathe. 

He undressed in a hurry. For a moment he stood naked, shivering with emotion. 

The shift slid down his body like the caress of a loving hand. The petticoat frothed like sea foam. 

When he re-emerged, shy and embarrassed, Gwen calmly helped him put the gown on. She did up the laces, pulled the bodice tight and adjusted the skirt. 

The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. Merlin kept his eyes lowered. 

Gwen ruffled his hair a little, arranging the locks. She eyed him with appreciation. Placing her hands on his hips, she turned him toward the mirror. “Look!”

Amazed, Merlin studied his own reflection. The gown shimmered. The skirt was too short and the bodice somewhat ill-fitting, but the illusion did not shatter. His features looked soft and sensual, his waist tiny. His wide eyes were very blue. He was beautiful! 

Suddenly he felt weightless with joy. Experimentally, he pulled his rich skirts wide, curtsying deeply. “Sire. My queen.”

“It's like magic,” Gwen whispered. “You're transformed!”

Arthur looked stunned. 

Gwen's hands returned to Merlin's waist, her every breath ghosting across his exposed shoulders. Arthur got up to join her, standing very close. A look passed between them.

Gwen's hands traveled upwards, tugging at Merlin's bodice, exposing his nipples. Her long hair tickled his skin.

Merlin gasped. “Gwen?”

“Do you want us to stop?”

Merlin gazed into the mirror. The three of them stood together as one. This was right. He finally dared face his most cherished desire. “No, I don't. I... have wanted this for a long time.”

“So have we,” Arthur said. 

Gwen smiled. She kissed Merlin's shoulder, her warm lips lingering on Merlin's skin even as Arthur leaned in for a nibble of his own. 

Overcome with lust and longing, Merlin threw his head back and closed his eyes. He gave himself over to his king and queen - his friends, soon to be his lovers. 

Gwen caressed his chest, grazing his peaked nipples. Merlin shuddered.

“You're perfect. So pretty,” Arthur whispered. There was no mockery in his voice, only breathless affection. Standing behind Merlin, he started pulling the blue skirt and the layers of lace up and out of the way. 

When nothing but the flimsy shift covered Merlin from the hips down, Arthur gathered up a section of it and wrapped the cool silk around Merlin's erection. The softness of the fabric and Arthur's strong grip were intensely arousing.

Merlin inhaled sharply. “Oh!”

“Feels good, doesn't it?” Gwen breathed.

Once more, Merlin looked into the mirror. His gown was admitting defeat, the bodice riding low and the skirt bunched around his restless hips. He looked wanton, with flushed skin, parted lips, and heaving chest. Arthur and Gwen were holding him, kissing him, touching him, stopping at nothing to give him pleasure. Never had Merlin imagined himself as the center of such blissful debauchery. 

Arthur's hand worked Merlin's silk-sheated cock with firm, demanding pulls. Gwen pinched his nipples. 

“Y-yes!” Merlin tensed, whimpered, and came.

“Next time, you'll serve us our dinner first,” Arthur panted into his ear. “And wear nothing but Gwen's corset all evening.”

* * *

**37.**

**Pairing(s):** Leon/Cenred  
 **Warnings:** Mentions of wound and bleeding, masochism, porn-compliant bad plot

Leon had sat at the edge of the bed and bent over the Templar’s leg to take a better look. According to the ones who had dragged him in, the arrow had pierced the leather and chainmail but Cenred’s sheer dumb luck had let it not too deep into the flesh itself. An almost ordinary wound, if it weren’t for the poison.

Lowering his head between Cenred’s knees, Leon had to suppress his need to shake his head. The situation was not entirely foreign to him. He couldn’t believe he actually had _a reason_ this time, to be in the same position. He took one more swig of alcohol to cleanse his mouth, and looked at Cenred. The Templar looked like an illustration from one of those indecent “manuals” to “relief”: lying on his back, breeches torn and cast away, hands on his knees to keep them wide apart.

Leon lowered himself on his elbow and took Cenred’s thigh in his hands to steady it. One last breath and ignoring the Templar’s whimper, he pressed his lips around the wound and sucked in. Hot, pungent blood ran over his tongue and filled his mouth. Somewhere above him Cenred tensed and let out a tattered breath. The muscles of his wounded thigh hardened and shuddered. Leon tried to ignore him and concentrate on saving his life. He spat the tainted blood into the bowl he had prepared, once, twice to clean his own mouth from any lingering poison, and pressed his lips to the task once again. Cenred tried to twist away; something at the edge of Leon’s vision moved and he shifted his gaze just in time to see the Templar’s soft, round derrière clench.

“Sir Leon…” Cenred moaned and clenched again, forcing Leon to shuffle his limbs and put a hand on his patient’s hip to keep him still. When Cenred obeyed, Leon eased the pressure and caressed the bare skin to reward him.

It worked like magic. Cenred went perfectly still. “Don’t stop,” he ordered, voice carrying some semblance of his usual authoritative self, yet also saturated with something else, something that made the hairs on Leon’s neck and forearms stand on edge. He indulged his patient and ran his palm over Cenred’s abdomen, the coarseness of the hairs merging into one whole thing beneath Leon’s fingertips. Cenred growled and swore, but kept his pelvis and legs still.

Leon was almost done. He finished dressing the wound and withdrew from Cenred, pushing himself onto his knees. In front of him, the Templar was flushed and panting, mouth open and eyes screwed shut, neck bared and cock generously oozing at the foot of the red Templar cross.

“Sir Cenred…”

“Please… sir Leon. For the pain,” Cenred pleaded.

Leon bit his lip, the metallic taste of blood still faintly lingering in his mouth. He _could_ deny the Templar. The man’s had worse wounds before and wore them without complaint. But Leon could also comply with the request and well, the mighty sir Cenred begging like that, it wasn’t too bad.

He reached out and wrapped his fingers around Cenred’s shaft. Cenred let out an unintelligible noise, a plea for more, a promise for quickness, and sure enough, one stroke from Leon’s grip tipped him over the edge. His spine arched and a curse escaped his lips, its ends tattered by his uneven exhale. His cock throbbed in Leon’s hand, spurting white milky liquid all over the Templar cross. Cenred exhaled and inhaled again, his breath dying in his chest for a long moment before going out as another low moan. The edges of his mouth trembled and went up in a smile of satisfaction and suddenly Leon was reminded why exactly he had granted Cenred’s request, why he had been so easily seduced by the man back in Acre. He squeezed and stroked, and watched Cenred shiver under his touch. The latter shuddered, sure enough, but kept his legs and pelvis as still as possible.

Leon gave him a last, hard squeeze. “You’re supposed to be an example of purity, and yet you’re dragging me in Hell with you,” he muttered, faking offence.

Cenred laughed and cracked an eye open, looking at Leon. “You’re the one holding onto my cock for dear life, sir.”

* * *

**38.**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warnings:** Non-con, implied major character death

Nothing compared to the thrill of the hunt. 

Merlin could hear his prey’s blood pulsing strongly with fear and desperation. It would taste so much sweeter for it. Merlin could kill in an instant, but he liked the chase. This one had headed for a church, was struggling with the door…

Merlin moved, instantly at the man’s side. He saw blue eyes widen in fear at the show of power, but the self-preservation instinct was strong and the man put his shoulder to the door, still trying to escape. There was no chance. Merlin’s eyes glowed momentarily, and the door fell inwards.

The man scrambled inside. “Sanctuary,” Merlin heard him gasp as he ran. “I claim sanctuary.”

Like that was going to stop Merlin. Merlin, alone among his kind, had magic.

He could see the horror in the man’s eyes as he approached. Beautiful, tempting. He would enjoy taking this one. 

“What are you?” the man gasped. He was at the altar, a huge ornate cross hanging over it.

“Your destiny,” Merlin replied, baring his fangs.

Recoiling, the man snatched up a small crucifix and held it out. Merlin could see his hand trembling.

“Those give a real buzz,” Merlin told him, gazing into his eyes, mesmerising him.

That was boring. He wanted a struggle.

“Look away.”

The man gasped as he did so, shaking his head to clear it.

“Your eyes…What did you do to me?”

Merlin didn’t know. He’d had no guidance because he’d killed his sire, though now he couldn’t remember why. There had been anger, rage, and then he’d felt nothing. Not until this blond human with his hot, pounding blood that Merlin _had_ to taste.

Merlin leaned in, close, breathing in the man’s scent. His sweat, his fear, they were intoxicating.

“Please…” the man tried to back away, still holding the crucifix. 

Merlin _reached_ for him, pulling him onto the cold stone floor. A wave of his hand, and their clothes were gone. The prey gasped, then tried to cover himself. He was truly beautiful.

Merlin had never felt desire like this before, not in all his years. Three hundred years, it was… perhaps more. He couldn’t even remember what his life was before. 

“Oh no,” Merlin breathed. “Let me look at you, sweet thing.” And he used his magic again, forcing the man’s hands away, spreading his arms wide as if he were crucified upon that cross overshadowing them.

“Arthur,” the man gasped. “I’m Arthur.”

As if giving his name would save him. There was something familiar about him, but Merlin couldn’t place it. This Arthur made him need and want like no other. Merlin was hard already, just from the sight of the golden creature beneath him, warm and vital.

“You’re mine,” Merlin purred. He pushed Arthur’s legs apart, kneeling between them as if he were preparing to pray. Appropriate, given their setting. And he’d worship this beautiful creature, briefly. So fragile. So very delicious.

Arthur was struggling now, terrified, fighting against the magic that bound him. 

Slowly Merlin raised Arthur’s hips, his magic reaching in, stretching him, preparing him… 

“Please don’t…” Arthur gasped, but Merlin could hear the hitch in his breath and see his cock stirring in its nest of blond curls. Arthur wanted this too. “Please…”

“You don’t have to beg,” Merlin whispered as he pushed inside and started to thrust, hard and fast. Arthur was tight and hot around him and moaned like a whore with every flex of Merlin’s hips, his leaking cock erect against Merlin’s stomach. Arthur was completely Merlin’s, would do whatever he wanted.

“Come for me,” Merlin whispered, leaning oh so close to the tantalising vein throbbing in Arthur’s neck. Soon, so soon, it would be his. Arthur jerked and spasmed beneath him, coming with a cry. The crucifix slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor unnoticed.

It sent Merlin over the edge, finally biting down and tasting the hot, sweet blood he craved as he pulsed deep inside Arthur.

“Oh.”

Arthur lay back, trembling. There was semen on his stomach, blood trickling down his throat.

“Merlin,” he gasped. “What happened to you?”

And suddenly Merlin’s memories started to return. All of them, overwhelming him. It was too much. 

He wanted that sweet blood again, wanted all of Arthur, every last part of him. If he drank deep enough it would stop. Everything would stop.

He lowered his head, his fangs extended, and pressed his mouth to Arthur’s warm flesh for the last time.

* * *

**39.**

**Pairings:** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warnings:** None

Arthur did not want to go to church. At all. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off the oncoming headache and sighed. He always acted like this when he had a crush. He just hated feeling vulnerable and would avoid the person who had captured his attention like the plague. It had started with a physical attraction, but then Father Emrys had to go and be a giant goofy nerd on top of being cute. Arthur had felt himself starting to get childishly upset and frustrated and knew that he had formed a crush on a _bloody priest._

“Call me Merlin!” He had said when they first met, shaking Arthur’s hand with enthusiasm. Arthur hated him. He knew it was irrational but he didn’t really care because he was frustrated, dammit. 

He decided it was best to get this over with and went into the church and straight to the confessional, no Merlin in sight.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.” Arthur waited for the usual reply from Father Hart. 

“What sins have you come to confess today?” Arthur stopped for a second at the young voice that answered him. He nearly groaned in frustration. _Of course_ Merlin would be running confession today.

“I-I’m sorry Father. I must go. I will come back later this week for confession—“ Arthur started to get up. There’s no way he could possibly share his feelings with Merlin right now. 

“No! Please Arthur, I-I mean ahh,” Merlin stammered. “Look. I know I’m young but please, let me guide you. I worked hard for this priesthood, you know.” 

Arthur could almost picture Merlin’s cheeks getting red and his mouth setting in determination. He knew the man was stubborn; it was one of the traits he liked about him. 

“I do not doubt your abilities, Merlin. I’m, um, just used to Father Hart, is all.” He sat back down.

“What brings you here today, Arthur?” Arthur sighed and closed his eyes. At least his feelings would be out there, he supposed. 

“Well, Father, I am here to confess that there is one particular male that has been…plaguing my thoughts as of late.” Arthur waited for a response. Father Emrys remained silent so he continued.

“Not only am I ridden with guilt over my unfortunate taste in men, I am also dealing with the fact that the man I am infatuated with is a priest.” Arthur rested his head back on the wall. Merlin would know it was him that Arthur was referring to. There was only two priests at the church and Father Hart was roughly 30 years his senior. There was a long silence from Merlin’s side of the screen.

“What thoughts do you have about him? Letting go of all of your sins might help you get over this…infatuation.” Arthur let out a laugh at that.

“Well, I think he’s beautiful,” he smiled, picturing the blush on Merlin’s face.

“He is the star of many of my fantasies. His lips alone are enough to make me want to sin,” he paused, heart racing, waiting to make sure that this is what Merlin wanted. All he heard from the screen was soft pants. He knew Merlin’s pulse must’ve matched his own.

“Gosh, I want to touch him so badly.” Arthur’s face was hot and he could feel himself getting hard. He tugged at his zipper. Merlin wouldn’t be able to see him anyways. 

“I like to picture what it would be like to seduce him. I think I’d start with kissing his lips until they were red and raw. Then, once he begged me for it, I’d finally touch his cock. I’d only stroke it for a little while, though. I wouldn’t want him to come from that just yet.” Arthur was fully stroking himself off now. He could hear slight moans from Merlin and was getting hot all over at the sound.

“Do you think he’d like that, Father? Do you think he’d like me to stroke his cock?” Arthur moved his hand quickly up and down his shaft, pre-come making it completely wet and slick. 

“A-Arthur,” Merlin breathed. There was no denying what he was doing. It drove Arthur crazy thinking of Merlin jacking himself off just a few feet away.

“What I think I’d like best, is for him to ride me. I want to see my cock disappearing inside of him. I’m sure that’s a sin in its own right. I just think he’d fuck me so hard, I can barely stand the thought going without him.” Arthur thrust into his hand as he came, trying not to release any loud groans. He leaned back to catch his breath and wiped the cum off on his boxers to be dealt with later. He heard the even breaths on the other side confirm that Merlin came too.

“So…same time next week, Father?” He heard a giggle and smiled. He could live with this.

* * *

**40.**

**Pairing(s):** Elena/Vivian  
 **Warnings:** none apply

~~_4\. Drive to the ocean at least twice._ ~~

Elena shrieks with laughter when Vivian splashes her. Viv's the kind of girl everyone thinks would just sit on the beach with her sunglasses on, but they don't know her like Elena does. She's vicious when provoked, and right now she's provoked.

“Not fair, you sneak!” Elena slips on a rock and goes under, which is her own fault, and ends up propped up on her elbows in the shallows with Vivian staring down at her, one eyebrow raised. “You're a shark, that's what you are.”

“I am a _mermaid_ ,” says Vivian, with great dignity, and pulls Elena to her feet and out to the deeper water.

~~_7\. Figure out that thing Viv does with her tongue._ ~~

It's too hot to be wearing shirts. That's Elena's argument, anyway, and Vivian is easily hushed when she points out that sex will only get them sweatier.

They've been doing this for months and not mentioning it, ever since they both ill-advisedly dated Arthur Pendragon in rapid succession, and maybe they should talk about it. Elena doesn't really want to. Talking about things makes them real, and real things are probably going to end in a month when they head off to different schools.

She unzips Vivian's shorts instead and kisses her way down.

“Hold on, I've been figuring this out for ages,” she says, and puts her mouth between Vivian's legs.

Vivian, pushy as ever, wraps her legs around Elena's head, but Elena really doesn't mind that. She hears boys make comments sometimes, that girls taste bad (as if any of them has done it as much as Elena or Vivian have), but she's never really thought so. Just salty and musky and strange.

Elena isn't as good with her mouth as Vivian is (Vivian's always had the clever tongue, after all), but she's been working at it, and today she's rewarded by Vivian's gasps and the clench of her muscles when Elena does her best to reproduce what Vivian did the first time she went down on Elena and Elena actually squirted.

Vivian doesn't squirt, but she does come against Elena's tongue with a sharp noise Elena can hear even through the cushion of Vivian's legs next to her ears, and Elena looks up at her and beams. “What do you think, almost as good as your secret tongue thing?”

“Acceptable technique,” says Vivian with a sniff, and then holds out her hands impatiently, expecting Elena to come to her.

Elena goes, of course. That's how it works.

Vivian gives Elena her thigh to ride and Elena comes gasping into her mouth before she collapses.

“Ugh, get off, you're sweaty,” says Vivian after what's probably exactly five minutes, but she keeps her hand wrapped around Elena's wrist so she doesn't go far.

~~_11\. Visit campus at least once so I don't get lost._ ~~

“I still can't believe you're leaving me.”

Elena, squinting at her campus map upside down, looks over at Vivian, who's been in a mood for the whole trip. She's got her arms crossed and she's looking around with a frown on. Elena tries on a smile. “And whose idea was it for you to go to _Scotland_ instead of here?”

Vivian frowns some more and takes the map from Elena, turning it the right way around. “You're terrible at maps, just figure out how to get around the place. Take a left at that sign up there, we'll see what we can find.”

It's a lovely day, and Elena can almost pretend she and Vivian will be here together in the fall. She knows they'll talk all the time, it isn't too dire, but she's spent most of her life seeing Viv at least every week, if not every day. It will take adjusting.

Vivian looks surprised when Elena grabs her hand, but she doesn't let go until they leave.

~~_12\. Go to Arthur's end-of-summer party._ ~~

Elena is kissing Vivian behind a tree in Arthur's back yard. Everyone else is laughing around the bonfire, and she smells like smoke and beer, and Vivian is pressed against her like she wants them to be one person. Elena wants to stay here forever.

“You can't leave,” Vivian is saying, over and over, kissing Elena every time she does.

“We're going to be okay, Viv, we are, I—” Elena cuts herself off and kisses her again. She can say it later.

_1\. Tell Viv I love her for real._

* * *

**41.**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warnings:** Mild swearing and a vaguely romanticized depiction of the Tube.

It starts, as many of these things do, on the Tube.

He always likes to do a crossword on his way to work in the morning, and he sometimes leaves it behind in the seat when he gets off the carriage. There’s nothing particularly remarkable about this little routine of his until one day, he gets back on in the afternoon and sees the very same paper sitting on the seat again, exactly where he left it—except now the entire crossword is _finished_ , filled out with neat, careful handwriting. It feels deliberate, like a challenge.

And with that, it’s bloody _on_ , dammit. 

—

The next day, he makes sure to fill out the whole bloody crossword. When he catches the tube in the afternoon, the paper is still sitting on the seat in the same place as before. He’s a little disappointed, and he’s about to throw it out when he notices a few scribbles that hadn’t been there before.

 _17-Across is supposed to be ‘calling’ and not ‘mission’, which means 17-Down can’t be ‘mic’,_ the note says. _Also, you’ve misspelled ‘machinists’ (2-Across)._

The note shouldn’t make him feel this personally affronted, but it does.

—

He begins making a habit of leaving the crosswords behind. Sometimes they come back completed with the word “OBVIOUS” written in large, annoying letters, and Merlin will reply with the word “SNOB” in equally large print. They go back and forth on a particularly difficult Wednesday puzzle for almost a week. He finally picks up the completed puzzle on a Tuesday afternoon with the word _‘TAPER!!!’_ written in dark, enthusiastic lettering, surrounded by several circles for emphasis. Merlin smiles despite himself.

—

19-Across: E-A-G-E-R-L-Y

_Obviously it’s not that, you daft loser. You know it can’t be a bloody adverb!_

The next day, Merlin tries again.

19-Across: P-I-L-L-O-C-K

—

Sometimes, Merlin thinks that this feels absurdly like flirting.

—

One day, he decides he wants to meet this bloke. It’s been a month, so why not? That’s how he finds himself still on the tube one morning long after his stop, seated next to a supremely hot stranger who is _exactly_ Merlin’s type and is currently writing in the crossword Merlin left for him.

And Merlin has no idea what to say. He must have some kind of really ridiculous expression on his face, because the crossword bloke _notices_ , and says, “Are you alright, mate?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he stammers quickly, and then pauses. “You’re the, um….” He gestures helplessly at the crossword puzzle.

The man stares back at him blankly for a moment before recognition sparks. “Oh! You’re him—you’re the sod who keeps littering crosswords!”

“Oi, I don’t _litter_ them,” Merlin replies defensively. “I leave them on the seat.”

“Hm,” the man says, then starts scribbling something on the newspaper before handing it back to him. “Here. You’ve been gagging for it.”

Merlin takes the paper, still a little caught off guard, and looks at the top where a neat string of digits has been written. “It’s a phone number,” he states blankly. Then, “Oh, shit. That’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?”

“I think ‘presumptuous’ would be asking you if you like pub food, because there’s a nice little bar just down the street from my flat.”

“Oh really?” Merlin says. “Why should I? I don’t even know you.”

“We’ve been talking for a month, and you say you don’t know me? I’m hurt,” the man replies. “My name’s Arthur, by the way.”

“I’m Merlin,” he says, then considers Arthur’s proposition for a moment. “You know what? Yeah, I’d go for some chips.” he says eventually, grinning. “I guess you’re not _that_ bad looking.”

—

Arthur is a sly fucker, Merlin thinks with his back pressed against the wall of Arthur’s flat. Merlin doesn’t normally do this sort of thing, but Arthur is charming and hot, and he kind of likes him, so normalcy can kindly fuck off.

“ _Shit_ ,” Arthur murmurs lowly when Merlin starts to fumble with his zip.

“Just take them off, you massive pillock,” Merlin says.

“Don’t you mean 19-Across?” Arthur quips, but he obliges all the same. Merlin sucks in a sharp breath.

“Fuck…” He drops to his knees.

They’re still almost completely dressed, and they’ve barely made it past the door to Arthur’s flat, and this whole situation is just bloody _absurd_ , but he takes Arthur’s dick into his mouth anyway. Above him, Arthur lets out a muffled groan that goes straight to Merlin’s own cock.

“Pretty nice reward for littering, eh?” Arthur pants.

“Shut up,” Merlin replies, voice muffled, but he’s laughing anyway. He thinks he might sort of really like this crosswords bloke.

* * *

**42.**

**Pairings:** Enmyria/Morgause  
 **Warnings:** None

She stands naked atop the world, the glass beneath her feet a thousand-colored mosaic. Around her the scent of pepper vines rises, underlaid with cedar from the bonzai trees a dozen steps below.

Under the noon sky, Enmyria dances, hair flickering like a candle flame behind her.

A hundred feet beneath her in the tower's base, Morgause watches her rainbow-limned shadow tumble across the floor and dreams.

~~~~~~~

The island self-sustains except for one ship a year. From the plants growing down the glass walls to the wave-powered looms, everything is provided. 

Except freedom. Camelot's mercy has its limits.

Morgause has them gather the molted feathers of birds who winter here. Aglain sees her intent and smiles, encouraging. In this alone it seems they can agree.

~~~~~~~

"You've tried them?" Enmyria asks, stroking a hand over one of Morgause's breasts. "You know they'll work?"

Morgause tangles their legs together, pressing her thigh firmly against Enmyria's mound. "I have. They will."

"I don't know what freedom will feel like," Enmyria admits breathlessly, clutching at Morgause's shoulders and riding down hard. Her skin pinks under her freckles.

"It will feel like this," Morgause whispers, pinching one of Enmyria's nipples and sliding a hand over her bum. "Like too much and we won't always know what to do with it, but beautiful and worth every moment."

Arching, Enmyria squeezes her eyes shut and tries to imagine.

~~~~~~~

At dawn they stand on the tower, packed together with their wide-stretched wings.

Aglain leaps first. They don't breathe for a long moment, until his wings catch air and he gives three powerful strokes, beating his way back upward.

After that, Kara leaps immediately, then Mordred and Morgana. Alvarr darts after them. Sefa leaps side by side with her father, and Forridel takes a running start. Soon, only two remain.

Morgause has been waiting for someone to falter and need to be caught, but no one has. She looks sideways at Enmyria.

"After you."

"Together."

Their bare feet slap on glass, and then they are off.

Wind rips at Enmyria's arms and hair as she lifts her toes to the rudder board, flapping her arms once, twice, before leveling out. Morgause's shadow crosses her face, drifting East.

~~~~~~~

A hundred warnings came before flight. Not too high, nor too slow. No updrafts.

Freya catches one early. Enmyria, closest, hears her cry. She beats upward, unthinking, and dives across to knock her free.

Tangled, they fall. She shoves Freya away to right herself, but Enmyria's too tired to snap her own arms out. The ocean looms.

She lands hard on something that gives, then holds. As she uncurls, she takes a face-full of gold hair.

Morgause, beneath her, bears her up until she can lift herself again. Their toes nearly skim the waves, but they are still in flight.

~~~~~~~

The sun bleeds red behind them. Stars appear, then a moon like a ripe fruit dangling ahead. Morgause drifts closer.

"How far?" Enmyria calls. She doesn't ask, _Why did you wait until you had wings for us all?_

"Steady", Morgause calls back, ignoring the question.

The moon shrinks and pales as it rises, its twin rippling below. Enmyria's body burns - her upper arms, shoulders, chest. Her parched lips crack; her fingers tremble.

Land. Eventually, there must be land.

~~~~~~~

Stars are fading when someone shouts. She lifts her head wearily, blinking at the outline of pink sky behind...

Mountains?

The sun is a half-risen cherry by the time they are close enough to land on the white beach. Exhausted, Enmyria angles too quickly downward and is dragged along by her own momentum. She sits up, spitting sand, and eases her aching arms out of the wing bindings, pulls her blistered toes off the rudder levers.

They live. How is that possible?

She staggers over to help Gilli untangle Alice, who has snapped a wing in landing. Around her, everyone is hugging.

For a moment, none of them are quite sure what to do, standing on a shore that is not their rocky home. A shore where they can run and explore without boundaries.

Then Balinor calls, "Water! Firewood! Shelter!"

"In pairs," Finna reminds them.

Enmyria falls back, taking Morgause's hand.

~~~~~~~

"Worth every moment," Enmyria slurs, too exhausted to do more than crawl up Morgause's body in their tiny lean-to and pillow her head on Morgause's breasts.

"Yes," Morgause agrees. "And tomorrow, you can dance in the sand."

Enmyria smiles against her skin.

* * *


	4. Group D (warnings)

**43.**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
**Warnings:** None

[](http://imgur.com/YGAwjav)

* * *

**44.**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Other  
**Warnings:** Bondage, Rimming, Painplay, Dubious Consent  
**Title:** Cross, All Across

[](http://imgur.com/K8Nz2aM)

* * *

**45.**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
**Warnings:** None  
They share a look. And then before either of them know it, they've crossed the threshold that will change their relationship forever. (..... _or:_ sappy first-time!fic!!)

[](http://imgur.com/0jH4KfQ)

* * *

**46.**

**Title:** Cross-stitch Me Like One of Your French Girls  
**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
**Warnings:** None

[](http://imgur.com/aVcsl6L)

* * *

**47.**

**Pairing:** Morgana/Gwen  
**Warnings:** None

[](http://imgur.com/usXEeDo)

* * *

**48.**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur Pendragon, Merlin/Arthur/Percival, Merlin/Arthur/Gwaine  
**Warnings:** Sexual content, Nudity, NSFW

Here is my finished entry for the first challenge. Cross is interpreted as crossing things off a list. Arthur has written a sexual bucket list and Merlin has found it, adding commentary to Arthur's writing along with a few doodles :P

(see full size [here](http://i.imgur.com/TmfceKy.jpg))

* * *

**49.**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
**Warnings:** None

[](http://imgur.com/zSZwes4)

* * *

**50.**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
**Warnings:** none

[](http://imgur.com/HEZqCXB)

* * *


	5. Group A (clean)

**1**

His palms are sweaty when he sets the box into the ground. He takes one last look at it before he sighs and pushes the dirt over it, flattens it out and sits nearby.

Then he waits.

After a minute passes, he lets out another sigh and digs into his pocket. He gets a cigarette out and lights it, watches the smoke curl under the moonlight. Everything is quiet. Until...

"Can I have a drag?"

He damn near jumps out of his skin. He takes a deep breath and tries not to shiver as he feels the thing at his back, sitting right behind him. He does nothing.

"Come on, now," the voice teases. "We'll be making out pretty soon, you'll live if we share a cigarette."

Mordred says nothing. He reaches the cigarette over his shoulder, surprised when the fingers that graze over his aren't stone cold.

"So you'll say yes?" he inquires. He listens to the thing blow out smoke, then takes another drag.

"Yes," it answers. "If you tell me why."

"Why what?"

It clicks its tongue, then reaches the cigarette back to Mordred. He debates putting it out, but then takes a drag himself. He doesn't die immediately, so he doesn't stop.

"Why you keep doing this," the thing said. "I mean, don't get me wrong you've been a favourite. I keep all your pictures and stuff."

"What?" Mordred chokes. He finally turns around and sees the thing has mirrored his pose, sitting on the ground with its back to Mordred and knees to its chest. It turns around when it feels Mordred move and it smiles. It doesn't know that behind its expression, beneath its skin, Mordred can see its real face - odd and distorted and _eerie_. He finds that if he focuses on the human features it's presenting, it actually looks quite beautiful.

"Yeah," it chuckles. It shifts until it's facing Mordred. "I left them in my wallet. Which I left in another body, I'm afraid. Had to drop it and snatch something you'd like better." When Mordred doesn't say anything, it points at its body, "This is for you. And since you're gonna need a name - for all intents and purposes, mine is Arthur."

"Arthur," Mordred repeats, pretending that he doesn't know how this all works. The demon nods. "So you knew I was calling all this time? Why didn't anyone come?"

"Because you're a fucking witch," Arthur laughs. _Wrong,_ Mordred thinks, but doesn't correct him. "A bad one, at that. And you want too much."

"I'm offering you my soul in return."

"One fucking soul isn't worth it," Arthur rolls his eyes. "I don't know what you'll do with me."

"But you'll agree to it now?"

He nods. "I just want to know."

Mordred hesitates. "I can't tell you."

Arthur just looks at him and clenches his jaw. "Fine. I'll do it. But you know that just a kiss won't do for you, right?"

"I know," Mordred sighs.

Arthur pulls him closer. "Don't be so miserable. I'm not exactly bad at it."

"You're a demon," Mordred rolls his eyes. It's much harder to focus on Arthur's human features from this close, so he decides to close his eyes.

"I spend more than half my time up here," Arthur whispers against his ear. "And this isn't my first deal."

"But it is mine." It's not exactly a lie. He's never really been on this side of it before. "What do I say?"

"Just tell me that you want it. Your magic will do the rest."

"I want this," Mordred says.

Arthur is there to collect the oath right off his lips.

Mordred feels his whole body warm up as magic wraps around the two of them and strings them together. He pulls away to take a breath and then seeks out Arthur's lips again, shifting closer until he's on top of him. Arthur hums and Mordred feels his magic slide and caress him like he's never really let it before, but he clings to Arthur, rides it out. When he comes, Arthur is there again to drink the moans out of his mouth, take everything he thinks needs.

He moves away, sticky and sweaty and tired. He looks at Arthur as he wipes his mouth.

"A piece of your soul is with me, now," Arthur smirks.

"It is," Mordred replies. _And soon, it will devour you._

* * *

**2**

*

Arthur is balls-deep in Merlin's arse when his hands tighten on Merlin's throat, making him gasp for air.

*

Merlin walks quickly out of the main server room into the corridor, hoping no one will see him on the way back to his office two floors down. The entire server floor is off-limits to everyone except the inner circle of staff, and Merlin is definitely not one of them. He's wouldn't even be here if Arthur hadn't recommended him for the job. 

Thinking he's less likely to run into anyone there, he turns into the stairwell only to run straight into Uther's personal assistant George. George, the most correct and disturbingly honest person Merlin's ever met. Fuck.

The game is up. He pushes past a gaping George and runs.

*

The suitcase on the floor in front of him is still almost empty, the only things in it are a few old t-shirts. He knows he should fill it with all the things he can't live without – laptop, books, photos, clothes – but even just thinking of leaving feels a little bit like trying to slowly pull your heart out of your chest.

Merlin sits down on the bed and, with a sigh, pushes the suitcase away with his foot and buries his face in his hands. A bit of distance from all of this would be nice.

*

"Merlin?"

Arthur's voice is a bit huskier than normal, and Merlin gets up from the bed to greet him. He's afraid of what he'll see in Arthur's face, so he keeps his eyes firmly locked on that safe, broad chest instead.

"Merlin!" Arthur reaches out and draws Merlin in. With a gentle finger, he forces Merlin's chin up so he can see his face. "Love, what have you been up to today?"

"I..." Merlin hesitates. He should tell Arthur the truth and give him a chance to forgive him, but he's afraid. "I, er, nothing much, really. Left work early, wasn't feeling well."

Arthur watches him closely, as if he can tell Merlin's lying. With a bit of an effort, Merlin grins and pulls Arthur into a tight hug. "It was just a rough day. Tomorrow will be better."

Leaning in close, Arthur softly kisses his neck. "Dad's a dick to you, eh? Can't say I didn't warn you. If I had stayed your boss, I would've kept you safe."

It might be his imagination, but Merlin thinks Arthur sounds a bit sad at that.

*

When Arthur pins him against the wall, pulls down his trousers, and harshly jerks him off, Merlin cries when he comes. Whispering comforting words into his ear, Arthur wipes the tears away with his thumb and presses a lingering kiss to Merlin's lips.

"Can I fuck you?" he asks, quietly, straight into Merlin's ear.

Merlin meets his eyes then. "I don't know, _can_ you?"

The smile he gets in return is distinctly sad.

*

Merlin's trying to pry Arthur's hands off his throat, but he's too strong and keeps them firmly in place, increasing the pressure. With a small gurgling sound, Merlin looks up at him and sees tears are streaming down his face. They drip onto his chest, but Merlin can't feel anything but the pressure on his throat. Arthur's moving his hips minutely, like he can't help taking pleasure in Merlin, even as he's wringing the life out of him at the same time.

"I love you. I love you, Merlin, but he'll kill me if I don't get rid of you, and I can't–"

There are white dots invading Merlin's vision, and he starts to panic properly because he can't breathe and he can't believe Arthur is doing this and he doesn't want to die, he doesn't, he doesn't–

He tries to fight Arthur off, but he's too weak under Arthur's well-trained muscles. He keeps fighting anyway, because what else is he supposed to do?

"Love, you should have told me. You should have trusted me, but you didn't and look what you forced me to do. God, I would never... you forced me to do it. I can't go against Dad, he's–"

Merlin claws at Arthur's hands and reaches for his face, scratching anything within reach, anything to get free, but he can feel his arms burning with the effort and knows it's over. It's becoming increasingly difficult to see, as blackness is overwhelming him.

_"Merlin. Merlin, why?"_

* * *

**3**

The young man sitting across from her was more tense that she'd ever seen him before. Merlin was their star tenor, and could sing a fearless solo in front of an Easter Sunday crowd, and now he had his shoulders up around his ears, and couldn't seem to speak at all.

"Why don't I start," Gwen said. "You said you had a question. What was it?"

He took a deep breath and said, "Did you ever doubt?"

"I doubt all the time! Cereal or eggs, black tea or green… about what, specifically?"

"I mean, before you joined the convent. Did you doubt?"

"Oh," Gwen said, and sighed. "I doubted that a bit. But I'd decided? No. I thought it through, and my father supported me. Why?"

Merlin looked down. "I don't think I want to attend Seminary."

"Why's that?"

And here Merlin looked down, started so hard to the table she thought his eyes would get stuck. "There's a boy," he said finally.

Oh. "Oh," Gwen said, and with a smile, "a special boy?"

"Yes," Merlin said, "very."

_______________________

Gwen remembers this conversation backwards. Telling her best friend that she doesn't want to get married and have kids, that they she's had different plans her whole life. She'd read about Hildegarde von Bingen and realized that what she really wanted was that. Nuns could change the world.

Morgana hadn't been happy. Gwen knew she wouldn't be, but the level of disapproval was more than she'd expected. Weren't they friends, hadn't they been lovers before, what was this insane nonsense about finding god? But God had been there, as well as love for her best friend. And if Morgana couldn't see that where her family could, then Gwen would have to decide.

\------------------------------------

"What's his name?"

"Arthur," Merlin whispers. He says it like he sings "Ave."

"What's he like?"

\-----------------------------------

Morgana was a perfect goth, thin and pale, blue eyes and black hair. Gwen looked at her and saw Joan of Arc. Possibly even the witchcraft part, because she followed her everywhere. She followed her all the way to Morgana's room, onto her floor, on to her back on a hot summer day, kissing her instead of the boys and feeling heady with power.

Morgana had kissed her senseless, and it had left marks all down her neck. She'd been grounded for a week, with "no boys allowed in the house until the end of time!" And she'd tried to look sad, but all it meant was that Morgana visited her instead. They didn't leave visible marks anymore, in favor of suckling at nipples and fingers and toes.

\----------------------------------

"He's at my school. He's head of the debate team, and his dad's head of the PTO." Now he whispers, "he kissed me."

 

Morgana had laid her back on her bed, skirt abandoned, shirt pushed up. She'd worn a proud wicked smile as she kissed her way down. Gwen had held her hand and guided the other up to her breast. She'd held it there, Morgana's pulse over hers, her tongue in her cunt, and whispered, "Oh god, oh god," and meant it in more ways than one.

 

Twenty years later she still feels how Morgana had made her come, tastes Morgana on her tongue. It was like lemon, honey and musk. And when Merlin asks if she ever doubted, she remembers that taste. Did she doubt? Well, only if Morgana did.

And she hadn't. When Morgana laughed, then teased, then shouted, Gwen had known all the way that her choice was right.

This sad, smiling boy in front of her does not.

"Father K would tell you to follow God's will," Gwen says. "But when I decided, I chose between a girl and my path." Merlin's eyes fly up, and she nods. "Yes, me too. I chose this. That doesn't mean you have to. Do what feels right, Merlin. And no matter what, there's a place for you here."

Merlin nods, swallows, stands up, and swallows again. He says, "Thank you," and leaves.

And Gwen goes on, making tea, and cleaning, and living through memories and faith.

* * *

**4**

"Bring him back," Gwen says.

The woman being worn as skin bites her lip. She's young, mousy, with a deceptively earnest look on her face. She's pretty, if you like that sort of thing (Gwen thinks she did used to like that sort of thing).

"I can't."

"Bull _shit_ ," Gwen says, and she doesn't cry, still can't break through the layers of stone that hardened and set as Elyan took his last breaths in her arms. She takes a step forward, and the demon takes a step back. "I know how this works. Take me. Bring him back."

"Elyan made a deal," the demon says. "You should know how that works, too."

Gwen grits her teeth, advances further. "Then get me the ruler of the crossroads."

"You know I can't-"

The demon tries to take another step back, can't. Gwen's face twists, but then so does the demon's, and before Gwen can read the exorcism rites, there's a horribly familiar voice saying, "Let Sefa go, Gwen."

Gwen whirls around, tries to contain her surprise. From the smirk on Morgana's face, she doesn't succeed. 

"You look old," Morgana says. She looks nothing like how Gwen remembers her, or maybe she does. Gwen finds it hard to tell, these days, but the lines on Morgana's face seem sharper, her eyes more wild. 

"You look evil," Gwen says, and it's no kind of retort but she is _tired_ , and she can feel the stone under her bones starting to crack. She couldn't cry for her brother, dead and burning, but she can cry for this.

Morgana cocks her head, like she's curious. "Let her go," she repeats.

Gwen exhales, slow, then breaks the devil's trap she had hid in the shadows. It took her three hours, with the wind rushing through her careful strokes and Elyan's body in the boot of her car, but she wasn't going to get this wrong. She couldn't. 

"You can go, Sefa," Morgana tells her, and the woman's eyes roll back in her head. Gwen catches her before she hits the ground. She's barely a weight in Gwen's arms, and Gwen lays her down gently in the dirt. "Are you sure about this?"

"He's my brother," Gwen tells her, straightening up, "you couldn't possibly understand."

Morgana's face doesn't change, but Gwen sees something like hurt flash across her eyes. Gwen smiles, hard, satisfied.

"One year," Morgana says, and Gwen says, "Five," and Morgana huffs an incredulous laugh, then says, "Two."

Gwen nods. Morgana steps forward, seals the contract with a kiss, but it is soft and familiar and the first touch Gwen has had in so long, and she winds fingers into Morgana's hair and kisses back.

In a heartbeat, Morgana has her against the bonnet of her car, inhumanly strong arms on either side of her. Gwen holds Morgana's liquid gaze; Morgana looks away first.

"Is this a trick," she says, low. Gwen says nothing, and Morgana looks back at her, her face more open than Gwen can ever remember seeing. 

"I just want him back," Gwen says.

"And this?"

In answer, Gwen pulls herself up onto the bonnet, widens her legs so Morgana can fit between them. She moves without Gwen bringing her close, but she doesn't come any further, like she's waiting. Gwen bites her lip, and doesn't tremble as she trails her fingers up the inside of Morgana's bare thighs, finds soft, familiar folds. She's not sure what she expected. 

Morgana makes a sound that's more breath than moan, drops her head to Gwen's shoulder, and Gwen leans into her, holding them both up. It's easy enough, now, her fingers moving like they never forgot how to touch Morgana like this. Morgana turns her face into Gwen's neck and bites, like she's finding anchorage, and she remembers that, too. 

Gwen wonders how long Morgana's been in this body. Gwen wonders how long Morgana was a demon before Gwen met her. Gwen wonders if Morgana knew what Gwen would become. Gwen wonders, and Morgana shudders out a breath and goes limp. 

She straightens up in a moment, Gwen's fingers sliding free. "Do you do that with all the demons?"

"Only my exes," Gwen says, and slides down off the bonnet. Their faces are close, too close. Gwen turns her head away. "See you in two years."

* * *

**5**

Arthur is breathlessly sure that this was not the plan. Because they are supposed to be infiltrating an enemy stronghold but instead he's cataloguing the way that Merlin's staid woollen gown slides over his body because of the sheer petticoats beneath. He's picturing the filmy undergarments that Merlin had held up two days ago in the up-until-then entirely sexless cloisters of Arthur's royal bedchamber, when he'd said 'it's no good, you're going to have to help me. I don't know how girls do it.'

Shoved tight between the spread of Merlin's beskirted thighs, Arthur, helplessly, _knows_ how girls do it. He tries to remind himself that this is a cunning military ruse, not a heated dream. He mustn't take advantage. 'You don't have to -' he starts, possibly a week too late.

'Yes, I do,' Merlin growls. 'Otherwise you'd be doing this alone. Forgive me for thinking you're worth wearing a skirt for. And, for the love of all that's holy, _shut up._ ' 

The footsteps running past start to slow, and Merlin mutters, 'forgive me, my lord,' and dips his head a single inch to press his mouth to Arthur's. 

Merlin's squired for Arthur, dressed and washed Arthur, tended his wounds, looked after him when he's been bedridden, and yet it's like they've never touched before. Arthur's hands fly up to cradle that sharp face and hold on just a little longer - and Merlin's drop to Arthur's waist. Arthur knows he must have drawn breath, tried to speak, because Merlin takes the opening and licks his way in. 

If this is kissing, Arthur can see why men have thrown away honour for it. He pushes blindly into Merlin's hold, uncaring of the shameful hardness in his breeches, and when Merlin moans into him and pulls them tight it becomes clear that under all those layers of soft shifting cloth, Merlin's in the same state. 

The footsteps have gone, and Arthur sinks to his knees gratefully, desperate to touch, shameless in the dark. 

'Arthur, what - oh, god, please, you don't - you shouldn't -'

'I want to,' Arthur breathes, battlefield-bold. 'Let me. Merlin, will you let me?' He's already pushing his hands up under the skirts. 

Merlin's response is to part his legs wantonly and put his hands on Arthur's shoulders. 'Whatever you want,' he says, shuddering. 'Just - quickly. We're not safe out here.'

Arthur takes an impatient breath and ducks down. 

It's dark under here, warm, and it smells of arousal, of _Merlin,_ of his little room off Arthur's grand bedchamber, and Arthur has a sudden flush of heat, thinking of Merlin at night, touching himself so close to Arthur doing the same. He noses closer, rough lace parting as he pushes, until he finds the hot, hard shaft of Merlin waiting for him buried in all that delicate frippery. He touches it reverently, with fingertips, with the tip of his tongue. Merlin's moan translates through shuddering fabric, shivering skin, not noise. Arthur feels it as he takes Merlin fully into his mouth, desperate to be closer.

The weight of it is unfamiliar, heady. Arthur opens wide, until his throat can't take it and he has to pull back or be choked. His own cock throbs tight in his breeches at the thought, that maybe, some other time, _soon_ , he might flirt with that danger. But now he takes as much as he can, until his eyelashes flutter against the fine linen of Merlin's undergarments, and his own hardness is rutted up against Merlin's leg, knees touching the skirt-padded wall behind, and he lets his fingers quest further around. 

Merlin may be no girl, but Arthur suddenly ferociously wants to be inside him. And oh, but Merlin almost melts against the bricks at the touch of Arthur's fingers to the tiny clench of muscle. 

But Arthur will have to wait to fuck Merlin like a girl in these skirts of his just like he'll have to wait to choke on him. Merlin gives a dying man's shudder and Arthur's mouth is suddenly drippingly full, the taste of it like wine, sour but addicting, and with that thought, that having tasted this fruit he's not willing to abandon it, Arthur is spilling uncontrolled and untouched in his breeches.

He's trying hard to regain his composure when Merlin says breathlessly, 'I told you you were worth wearing a skirt for.'

* * *

**6**

Merlin dressed like how he lived his life; jeans dirty like the sins he committed; shirt torn like the dreams of his past and shoes optional because FUCK society that's why.

So it came as a surprise to everyone, including Merlin, when he fell in love with an upper class prat, draped in Armani from the day he was born.

Arthur was the complete antithesis of Merlin's style, rarely without a three piece suit and completely unaware of the hard rock and punk sounds that motivated Merlin's aspect on life.

But Merlin didn't care because Arthur _got_ him in a way no one else ever would and they loved each other no matter what the world may think.

When they walked down the street hand-in-hand and people turned to stare at the strange sight, Merlin would pull Arthur in by his hand tailored lapel and snog his living daylights out until the corner of Arthur's eyes crinkled in amusement and everyone around them gaped at the spectacle.

His favourite moments were always the times after such shocking displays when the safety pins on his shirt inevitably caught on Arthur's blazer. The look of contempt on the spectators faces as he waved while Arthur grumbled in faux consternation never failed to amuse him. Besides, he really didn't give a fuck what anyone else thought. And yet...

Merlin could swear he sometimes saw a strange look in Arthur's eye. When they dressed each morning and Merlin pressed the stud into his nose Arthur would look away with some nameless emotion.

It wasn't until Merlin found ‘The List' that he understood why.

***

"Merlin, I'm home!" Arthur called out later that evening, briefcase in hand and tie askew.

"I'm in the bedroom," came the immediate reply.

Arthur grumbled as he shed his shoes, slowly making his way to their bedroom, glaring at a pair of Merlin's jeans that lay inexplicably in the middle of the hallway. He knew Merlin was a slob before they started dating but at least he usually confined his mess of clothes to the bedroom.

"You do know there's this thing called a cupboard don't you?" Arthur griped as he entered their room, a whole tirade ready to spill forth from his lips. 

All his thoughts fell to ash when he saw Merlin splayed across their bed, eyes free of kohl, hair perfectly coiffed and body resplendently decked out in a tailored three piece suit.

Arthur stood poleaxed, as he tried to process the image.

"What?"

Merlin chuckled at his boyfriends adorable confusion and stalked toward him as if he were prey, the molten heat in his eyes leaving no doubt that Arthur was about to be devoured.

"I found your list you prat!" Merlin said as he reached Arthur and slowly began removing his tie, flicking open the top few buttons of his shirt to play with the chest hair underneath.

"What list?" Arthur asked blankly eyes following the motion of Merlin's fingers as they caressed his chest, his entire demeanor dazed in shock and confusion.

"Your sex wish list," Merlin stated matter-of-factly, "The one you keep in your sock drawer."

Arthur's eyes widened in surprise as comprehension dawned.

"I thought you and I might be able to cross one of your items off the list tonight. Specifically the one where you fuck me while I'm dolled up," he said, pulling away to give a quick twirl. 

Arthur nodded eagerly stripping himself of his trousers before gentle hands against his face slowed him.

"If we're going to do this can you do something for me in return?"

***

Arthur laid hard kisses against Merlin's neck as his arse muscles flexed, his cock buried deep inside his boyfriend extolling pleasure with every thrust.

Arthur's blue eyes were rimmed with kohl, his hair spiked and chest covered by Merlin's favourite shirt, safety pins glinting against black in the afternoon light. 

They'd spent over an hour getting ready, Merlin shaping Arthur's hair and positioning himself on Arthur's lap to line his eyes, the air so thick with tension the only option was to fuck with reckless abandon.

Both remained covered from the waist up as they fucked to orgasm, Arthur's hands on Merlin's dick, Merlin's name on Arthur's lips.

***

"I can't believe you didn't tell me about your list," Merlin complained later.

"I never wanted you to change for me Merlin," Arthur answered seriously.

Merlin smiled at Arthur, amazed that such a man could love him.

"Of course now that I know you actually know what a draw _is_ you now have no excuse for your mess!"

Merlin burried his head under his pillow to avoid the triade. God the man was a prat!

* * *

**7**

Merlin sags against his side. He's cold, teetering on the brink of passing out. Arthur can feel the sticky wetness of Merlin's blood under his fingers even though the wound is on the other side of Merlin's torso.

Glancing back, he can see the searching light of the helicopter sweeping across the area. Merlin's knees buckle under him. Not expecting it, Arthur's pulled to the ground too. He manages to soften the fall, but not by much. They're running out of time.

"Leave me," Merlin breathes out.

Arthur shakes his head. 

"Never."

"It was a nice dream while it lasted," Merlin murmurs, caressing Arthur's cheek.

\---xxx---

_  
"You realize what will happen, don't you?" Merlin whispers, tilting his head back without any conscious thought._

_Arthur's mouth is hot on the exposed skin of his neck, his tongue rough and gentle against the untouched skin._

_"We'll run," Arthur says, following the words with a gentle bite just below Merlin's ear._

_Merlin gasps, presses himself closer to Arthur's body._

_"They say nobody ever made it," Merlin whispers, desperation leaking into his voice._

_"Then we'll be the first."  
_

\---xxx---

His foot catches on something. A root? Or maybe a raspberry twine? Not that it matters. It's just a split second, yet he knows he won't be able to stop the fall this time, the heavy weight of inevitability settling in his stomach for the brief moment before his knees connect with the ground. He bites his lip instead of crying out, fails to stay upright, to keep hold on Merlin's unconscious form. The impact pulls Merlin out of the calm oblivion. He groans in pain, confused, uncoordinated. 

"Sorry," Arthur grits out, feeling the dirt and needles push inside the fresh scratches on his palms. "We're almost there," he adds, resting his forehead on Merlin's shoulder.

Their time is running out but he needs at least a few short seconds to breathe and rest.

\---xxx---

_  
"I'll make you mine," Arthur says, pulling at Merlin's clothes._

_"Yes," Merlin gasps, nimble fingers divesting Arthur of his shirt._

_"I'll set you free," he promises, his hand sliding inside Merlin's freshly unzipped trousers._

_Merlin's ‘yes' gets caught in his throat. His cock is half hard under Arthur's fingers, but fills more with each stroke, each swipe of Arthur's thumb over the sensitive head. Merlin pulls him in for a kiss, desperate and needy. Virgin innocence mixed with his usual straightforward confidence. He takes control of the kiss, involuntary moans escaping him as Arthur teases the sensitive underside of his cock. There is no finesse to their coupling, but that's not what this moment is about.  
_

\---xxx---

 

He can see the faint shimmering of the air at the Avalon's borders.

 

\---xxx---

__  
On his front, his bum sticking up, rocking his hips in the rhythm of Arthur's fingers in his arse, Merlin is a sight to behold. He doesn't even try to hold back the helpless gasps of pleasure falling from his lips, each one of them sending shivers down Arthur's spine.  


\---xxx---

 

"Almost there," he whispers to Merlin who is barely conscious in his arms and runs the last few meters. 

The shield won't let him pass, but Merlin's limp form slides through without resistance.

 

\---xxx---

_  
He pushes in, feels every tremor of Merlin's body, hears the soft whine leaving Merlin's lips. They don't need to rush, not yet. He presses closer, his chest to Merlin's back. Merlin is alive under him, reacting to each shift of their hips, each drag of Arthur's cock against his sensitive inner walls._

_Arthur finally wraps his fingers around Merlin's cock. No teasing this time._

_"So right for me," he whispers, Merlin's movements growing erratic right before he shudders through his release._

_He buries his face in the crook of Merlin's neck, drives himself harder and faster into Merlin's fluttering hole, pleasure overtaking him not a minute later._

_The thin clasps on Merlin's wrists fall away.  
_

\---xxx---

 

"Let him in!" Merlin shouts, clawing at the barrier, impenetrable once he passed.

The shield remains still.

 

\---xxx---

_  
"Ready?" Arthur asks, linking his fingers with Merlin's._

_"Ready," Merlin confirms._

_He closes his eyes and transports them out of the facility. And then they run.  
_

\---xxx---

 

Three men rope down from the helicopter. 

"No!" 

The loud shout reverberates through the air, knocks the men off their feet.

Behind the barrier, Merlin collapses into Arthur's embrace, barely registering Arthur's next words. 

"I told you we'd be the first."

* * *

**8**

Arthur notices the damp curl of hair on the back of a pale neck three pews in front of him in the summer's heat.

Uther continues to rattle from the pulpit about magic and monsters and their eternal sin, but Arthur's mind drips hazily through the fog of heavy air and densely packed humanity.

There's a new boy in town, his mind wanders.

But mostly Arthur notices the wide-beaming smile and soft eyes that catch something sharp in his throat.

~*~

"I'm Merlin," he grins, hand held out, his palm warm and sure against Arthur's own.

As he ducks his head, dark eyelashes fanning out across the jut of his cheeks, his long fingers twitch where they're wrapped around Arthur's, and he flushes.

Arthur licks at his lips. "Arthur."

~*~

Merlin's back is lean and graceful as he dives headfirst into the pond, where the rest of the town has come to escape the heat, and he shakes his head like a dog when he emerges, laughing madly as water streaks down his face and over his lips. A quick pink tongue darts out to catch the drops and Arthur ducks back under the water and stays for as long as his lungs will let him, heated, heart pounding.

~*~

"D'you think your father is right about the magic? That it's poison?"

Arthur watches Merlin's face for a while, where his profile is turned towards the sun, something sad and foreign in his eyes, something that has no right to be there, and then looks down at their hands, pinkies touching where they're sprawled in the grass, at how it feels like the entire universe is at his fingertips whenever he feels Merlin's skin, however brief, and chokes.

"Sometimes I think my father is wrong about a lot of things," he says in a hush and links his pinky over Merlin's and holds tightly.

Merlin squeezes back and smiles small and private at the sky, sun-bleached freckles that Arthur suddenly wants to count and name stark against the pink washing across his cheeks and down his throat.

~*~

Merlin's mouth is as soft as he'd imagined, and nothing at all like anything he could've ever conceived, where he gasps into Arthur, wet and open.

The world spins and Arthur holds on, fingers sprawled over the small of Merlin's back, and he worries with laughter in his chest if his body can hold so much energy, elation threatening to spill out of every pore.

~*~

Merlin flashes in front of him as they race away from town.

"C'mon, Arthur! There's something I have to show you."

When a butterfly blooms blue in Merlin's hands, delicate and fragile like Merlin's smile, Arthur loses his breath.

It's beautiful and pure in a way Arthur'd never known life could be.

~*~

They steal into the church, behind the alter, Merlin's gasps and giggles punctuating each tug of Arthur's hands.

"Arthur, oh my god."

"I've been thinking about this," Arthur growls with a bite on Merlin's lip, "Ever since the first time I saw you. It's after midnight, no one's coming."

~*~

Arthur pants where he's braced on his arms, legs thrown wide, as Merlin touches his cock, golden eyes spreading slick and heat along his fingers and everywhere they touch.

"Yes, _fuck_ , please, Merlin. _Please_."

Merlin whines, eyes huge and wide in the moonlight through the window, and pushes his cockhead in slowly, until the stretch of it shivers up Arthur's spine and his head falls back against the floor, wordless gasps stuck on his tongue.

"So beautiful," Merlin whispers, hoarse, and can't seem to stop his hips from hitching in more, more fire spreading through Arthur's veins until it threatens to consume him. "I've got you, _I've got you_ ," he mouths into Arthur's shoulder, and they can't stop, they can't, everything spooling out of control as they shake into each other, shake apart.

Arthur comes on a sob, Merlin's breath in his ear, hand on his cock, endless whispered endearments that feel like they're being written into his soul.

~*~

When Uther tears out of the house the next morning and Arthur sees the footage to the security camera he didn't know about open on the laptop, he takes off after him, fingers trembling against the hunting rifle he'd gotten for his birthday.

~*~

Uther spits, vicious and hateful, at the barrel where Arthur stands, feet planted firmly in the Emrys' garden. "He has _magic_ , he has bewitched you, boy, and I will see this abomination put in the ground!"

Arthur smiles and cocks the safety.

* * *

**9**

After he'd left Camelot, Merlin had seen a lot of crazy things in his long life - but he had never met anyone quite like the Winchester brothers. 

One night he happened upon them exorcise a ghost. He felt compelled to introduce himself. It took some convincing for them to believe - at least Dean needed a lot of convincing. ("You're telling me you're, Merlin. THE Merlin. As in the sword in the friggin' stone!) Eventually they came around and they found a use for his magic.

Merlin was never truly whole after he lost Arthur. He'd never found a purpose again, but fighting evil and saving people did make him feel like he was finally useful and alive again.

There was also the fact that death and destruction followed them everywhere. They'd already fought off one apocalypse. It felt horrible, but he hoped that maybe one of these crises would lead to Arthur's resurrection. It gave him hope for the first time in centuries.

Little by little that hope started to dwindle. By the second apocalypse Sam and Dean had thwarted Merlin feared the world didn't need Arthur anymore, even though he did.

It all came to a head when he learned about crossroad demons. Sam and Dean warned him of what those kinds of deals would result in. Dean even talked in graphic detail about what living in hell was actually like. When they said they'd seen it all, they weren't kidding. 

Merlin didn't care. He had already been living in hell for centuries, nothing could be worse than living another day without Arthur. So, he gathered the essentials and buried it at a crossroads.

He was stunned when he faced the demon. These demons were truly sadistic. The demon before him looked like eerily like Arthur, but his blue eyes were a pale imitation of Arthur's, especially when they turned a perverse shade of red.

Merlin had tried to bargain to have a few years left. No luck.

"I just want one perfect day with Arthur. Please?"

The demon smiled cruelly and sealed the deal with a surprisingly gentle kiss. 

When Merlin got home, the sight before him took his breath away. Arthur stood before him, dressed as he was the day he died.

Merlin hurled himself into Arthur's arms. He started to sob and Arthur held him fiercely. Soon, Arthur slowly kissed away his tears.

They hurriedly undressed each other. Arthur took the time to kiss every part of Merlin's body. His fingers traveled down the same path as his mouth. As much as Merlin wanted to savor every moment, he knew there was little time. 

Merlin arched into Arthur's touch as he prepared him. Soon, Arthur entered him and Merlin knew that the sacrifice had been worth it. 

Merlin gasped into Arthur's mouth and kept saying "I love you." After, Arthur wrapped Merlin in his arms. He slept peacefully for the first time in a thousand years.

The next day, even though they were in a different time, it felt like nothing had changed. Arthur was still a slob who Merlin had to clean up after. Arthur and Merlin still bantered over everything and nothing. The only thing different was they got to make-up with sex.

Merlin knew that he only had until sundown. He didn't tell Arthur what he'd done. He wanted his time with Arthur to be happy. As he watched the sun disappear, he and Arthur made love one last time. He held Arthur's face - he wanted this to be his last perfect image.

A confused Merlin watched the sunset come and pass. 

Suddenly, there was a knock on his door. He was surprised to see Sam and Dean. 

Merlin went outside. "What are you doing here?"

"You're welcome." Dean replied.

Merlin was confused.

"You're probably wondering why you're still alive?" Sam offered.

"Yeah. I thought crossroads demons never went back on their deals."

"Well, just be glad the King of Hell owed us a favor." Dean explained.

Merlin felt immense gratitude. "You did that for me? I don't understand…" 

"After a century on this Earth, we thought you could use a break." Sam grinned.

"But, this is a one time only thing. You better use your time wisely."

Merlin nodded vigorously. "I will."

Sam clapped him on the shoulder. He and Dean turned to leave.

"For your sake, pray you never need us again." Dean said.

Merlin just nodded. He stepped back inside.

Arthur sat up in bed.

Merlin felt tears well in his eyes as he looked at him, knowing he had years left with him.

"Who was that?"

Merlin looked back at the door. "My fairy godfathers."

* * *

**10**

"What did you summon me for?" she demanded.

The woman raised her face to look at Nimueh and Nimueh's eyes widened at the beauty of the young woman. There were tear tracks on her face but the woman looked at her with steady resolve as she answered Nimueh's question.

"I am barren and I need to conceive a son for my husband," she stated simply.

"A life cannot be given without a great cost in return," Nimueh replied. "It is a sacrifice most cannot forbear."

"It does not matter. "I will make whatever sacrifice, for we are bereft without an heir," the woman replied.

"An heir?" Nimueh asked, suddenly more interested in this pact.

"To the throne of Camelot," the woman answered.

"Then you are, Ygraine," Nimueh stated. She smiled at the thought that occurred to her next. "The bargain for the life of a future king is even more steep than that of one for a lowly man." 

"I will make whatever sacrifice," Ygraine repeated.

"Very well," Nimueh replied. "You shall conceive a child tonight, but you must come back here tomorrow to ensure that the child will survive."

"And the sacrifice?" Ygraine asked.

"Will become apparent when the time comes," Nimueh said. Ygraine frowned at the answer but sighed and gave an accepting nod.

"There is a special kind of magic that must be done in order to ensure you conceive tonight," Nimueh stated as she approached Ygraine. "It will also be the seal to this pact."

"Do what you must," Ygraine replied and Nimueh closed the distance between the two of them to steal a kiss.

Nimueh pulled back from the kiss and whispered the words of the spell into Ygraine's ears as placed her glowing hands over Ygraine's womb. She smiled when she heard Ygraine's gasp of surprise, knowing that the touch of magic could be tantalizingly arousing and it would make things so much easier. Nimueh kissed Ygraine again and pushed a leg between Ygraine's own. She laughed when Ygraine pushed her away.

"What are you doing?" Ygraine asked when her mouth was free, she folded her arms together in front of her chest in a defensive posture.

"Sex magic," Nimueh replied. She mumbled a spell under her breath and smiled when Ygraine's clothes vanished. "In order to conceive an heir you womb must be prepared to receive your husbands seed. It's a preparation only I can help you with. You did want a son, did you not?"

Ygraine stared at Nimueh for a few moments before unfolding her arms and nodding. Nimueh smiled at her.

"Don't worry, this will be quiet pleasant for you," Nimueh assured as she approached Ygraine again. With another mumbled Nimueh's fingers regained their earlier glow and she watched Ygraine as she carefully cupped Ygraine's breasts before running her hands down Ygraine's torso.

Nimueh pressed her palm down against the mound for Ygraine's cunt and was rewarded with a soft gasp. She smiled at Ygraine and couldn't resist the temptation to kiss her neck. Nimueh then carefully parted the lips of her cunt and pressed quick circles against Ygraine's clitoris until Ygraine moaned loudly. She kept her other hand against Ygraine's womb pressing down against it, the magic tingled and warmed both of their skin. Nimueh reached down further and pushed into Ygraine's cunt, pleased to find her slick with moisture. She quickly fucked two fingers into Ygraine and continued stroking her clit with her thumb until Ygraine cried out and tightened around her fingers. Nimueh fucked her through her orgasm until the spasms stopped and the magic stopped flowing.

Nimueh laughed at the shocked look on Ygraine's face when she pulled away her fingers.

"Go now and lay with your husband. The magic is now inside you and will guide his seed to your egg," Nimueh said, "But remember to come back tomorrow before the sun rises or the magic will be incomplete," Nimueh warned. She flicked he wrist and the clothes Ygraine was wearing reappeared as she vanished.

Nimueh smiled thinking about the future king who would be born. After the spell tomorrow he would be destined to bring magic back to Camelot.

* * *

**11**

The swing on the porch of Gwaine's parents' cabin squeaks a little as it sways gently back and forth. Elena has her knees tucked up against her chest, her chin resting atop them as she looks out over the lake. Further down the path, beyond the first row of trees, she can hear the rest of them. Smoke billows up from the bonfire. Someone shrieks, followed by another bout of laughter.

Elena hides a wistful smile against her knees.

Suddenly, the swing dips back and she grabs the rusty chains, letting out a surprised yelp. She looks up into Gwaine's smug face and swats him. He laughs as he lets go and the swing rights itself.

"Move up." He squeezes in next to her. They're pressed together from knee to shoulder. "I guess we're not eight anymore."

"I think this is the final proof." She disguises a smile.

Gwaine shifts with difficulty. "We used to be able to fit a bowl of crisps between us."

"Maybe that's our problem right there. Too many crisps."

Elena looks out onto the lawn, down to the edge of it where it meets the lake, thinking of every sun-soaked summer memory. "Everything's changing, right? Going to uni. Feels weird."

"God, this thing is digging into my… move… no, wait. Christ, just…"

Elena laughs and accidentally elbows Gwaine in the stomach before she manages to settle down between his legs. She forces herself to relax, a little self-conscious about the heat of him along her back.

"So." Gwaine's breath tickles her neck. "Going to uni, then. Any regrets?" 

"Maybe. I never apologised to your mum for that broken vase.. And I never picked dare over truth because I was too chicken, really."

"Well, one of those is easily fixed. Truth or dare?" 

She turns her head, brushing against Gwaine's cheek as she does. "Dare."

His gaze is heavy and she knows what the dare is, instinctively. Her lips ghost across his skin until they press to the corner of his mouth. Nerves bloom in her stomach and she wonders if this was a bad choice, but she feels different tonight – bold, like tomorrow belongs to a whole new Elena.

His hands come to rest at her waist when he kisses her back, hot mouth opening under her lips giving her a swooping feeling low in her gut. It's messy and a bit off-centre, but it's making her pulse race as his tongue presses along hers. 

Goose pimples follow in the wake of Gwaine's hands slipping under her shirt to rub soft patterns on her belly, his thumb brushing the waistline of her jeans. She exhales shakily into his mouth and puts her hand on his, guiding it downwards.

He pulls out of the kiss, eyes searching her face, an unspoken question between them. She stares back, pops open the button on her jeans, and leans back against Gwaine's shoulder, heart pounding.

Elena has spent her life choosing truth, has never been the first to ask out a boy, always been the one to listen to stories rather than tell them. But in that moment she feels alive, wired and wild when Gwaine's hand cups her under her knickers, his lips on her neck.

She digs her fingers into his thighs, spreads her legs when his fingers move in slow circles exactly where she needs them. Pushing back, she sinks her teeth into her lip and her eyes slip closed.

Before she has the time to catch her breath, two of his fingers push inside her and she bucks against him, breaks the stillness with her soft moan. He nips at her jaw, pressing a kiss below it as his fingers move, steady and full. She rocks down on them and whimpers at the heat that spreads in her gut.

The heel of his hand presses against her clit, and when she moves with him, jolts of pleasure zing through her at every desperate hitch of her hips. She's wet and the sound of his fingers filling her, drenched in it, gives her a thrill that sends a shiver down her spine even as her cheeks glow hot with embarrassment. 

She comes with a long moan, fingers digging desperately into his thighs, body rocking her through the waves of release. When she slumps back, he loops his free arm around her waist.

"You promise we'll be here again, right?" she says, breathless.

He hums and shakes with silent laughter before he says, "Cross my heart and hope to die."

* * *

**12**

Gwen got the job for two reasons.

One: she took the initiative to file down the too-sharp bit the knight's horse had in her mouth. It was a disastrous idea to alter a nobleman's property without his permission, and yet Gwen couldn't bear it. The poor thing had cuts in her mouth.

When the knight returned to the stables, he immediately noticed the horse was calmer. Gwen was forced to explain, her fingers clenched into nervous fists.

"Are you smithy, too, then?"

"My father's a smith; I learned from him."

He looked at her speculatively through long, sandy lashes. "You want a job, boy?"

Two: he thought she was a man.

*

His name was Sir Leon: knight, nobleman, first son. He was a fair master, paid well, was never cruel.

He also _looked_ at her.

One night, they sat around a fire, Leon and some other knights and squires.

"He had God's own mouth on him," one squire was saying. "Sucked like he was fucking born for it."

Another knight groaned in appreciation, but Leon turned his head and murmured, voice low,

"What about you?"

Gwen froze. "Me what?"

"Ever had your cock sucked by a boy?"

She felt the question as a clench between her legs.

"No." 

It came out raspy. Masculine.

Leon held her eyes for too long before he turned back to the fire.

*

Gwen did think about it. Letting him have her like a boy.

Perhaps he'd corner her in the stables, and she'd turn to face the wall, pull her trousers down until her arse was exposed, let him bugger her.

In an experiment born of desperation and curiosity, she'd tried it out: putting a finger in. It was strange and zingy, and—once she'd thought to add oil—surprisingly _excellent_.

*

Leon found out Gwen was a girl because they literally bumped into Elyan while leaving a tavern.

Elyan took one look at her and one look at Leon, and then there was shouting, and Elyan challenging Leon to a duel, and Gwen stepping in to prevent acts of supreme stupidity. 

Sir Leon was visibly horrified. He assured Elyan over and over there was nothing untoward happening.

Long story short: Elyan and Leon bonded over dramatic promises to care for Gwen. She continued to work for Leon. And Leon didn't look at her anymore.

*

They put up the horses one night, just the two of them. Leon clapped her on the back. "Well done."

His hand lingered, the way it used to, before he snatched it back and turned to go.

Gwen heard herself say, very low, "You could, you know."

Leon froze, facing the door. "Could what?"

"Whatever you like."

For a long moment, everything was still, only the horses shuffling, and then there was the _best damn kiss_ of Gwen's life, and a haystack at her back and Leon's bony hips between her legs, but it wasn't what she wanted.

She whispered, before she could talk herself out of it, "Take me like a boy."

"What?"

"In the arse."

Leon bucked up against her even as he said, "What?! No."

"I want it, _please_ ," she said, and dug her fingers into his hair. "Didn't you think of it, back when… I saw you look at me."

That's apparently all she had to say, because he flipped her onto her hands and knees in the hay, tugged down her trousers, and lunged for the oil in the saddlebag. She thought desperately that he could almost use her own slick, she felt so wet.

The cold oil made her shudder deliciously.

"Slow," Gwen warned, as he pressed in, and so he went achingly slow, groaning as he went. His cock was bigger than her fingers, and the stretch stung, nearly overwhelming, but so good. She braced herself so that she could rub compulsively between her legs.

"Oh, God," Leon said, and started to move in short, helpless thrusts, every one sending a zing up Gwen's spine.

She pressed more furiously at her clit, focused on the ache and friction in her arse.

"You rub yourself like a boy."

Gwen gasped. "Yes. Like I'm jerking my cock."

Leon moaned.

Their fireside conversation flashed in her mind. "Maybe I'll let you suck it someday."

"Oh _fuck_." Leon went rigid, his fingers digging into her arse, and she actually felt him pulse inside her.

She rubbed hard at the slippery flesh between her legs, and her orgasm crested and broke like a wave around his cock.

* * *

**13**

All right, so maybe getting involved in the game the rich kids were playing with the hapless servant hadn't been smart, but when had he ever been smart when he saw someone getting picked on? 

And maybe he shouldn't have mouthed off the way he did. His mother had often warned him that he would get in far less trouble if he could just keep his mouth shut. 

So when the good-looking thug with the golden hair and the cheekbones and the shoulders and the rest of the package responded to Merlin's attempts to intervene, he realized that his stay in Camelot hadn't gotten off to a great start. 

Because the response involved Merlin bent over with his arm twisted behind his back, and the thug saying, "No, I'm the king's son, _Arthur._ " Then the prince leaned closer to Merlin's ear and whispered, "The next time you cross my path, I'm going to fuck you. So you'd better figure out whether you want to stay out of my way, or not." 

And then the guards threw Merlin in the dungeons, for what would prove to be the first of many nights there. 

*****

Because Merlin couldn't help being Merlin, he didn't manage to stay out of Arthur's way. Or maybe he in his heart of hearts, he really wanted to cross paths with Arthur again? 

In any event, he found himself once again facing off against his arrogant nemesis. He had tried to avoid him, but the jerk had taunted him, calling, "Don't run awa-aay," and laughing when Merlin took his jacket off. And it wasn't Merlin's fault that when Arthur mocked, "Big man!" Merlin's first thought had been, "You'd be surprised at how big it is." 

Arthur was exactly Merlin's type, and the taunting had an aggressive sexual edge, and it was no surprise that Merlin's thoughts immediately turned to bedding him. 

*****

Merlin did _not_ throw the fight. It was just bad luck. 

Or so he told himself. 

But once he'd lost, and Arthur's cudgel had fallen hard on his back, he'd found himself in the dungeons again. 

He noticed that they were slightly more comfortable than the night before, with a pallet and a blanket instead of just straw, and a decent dinner instead of the bread and water of the previous repast. 

He had been asleep for some time when he heard the self-assured voice of Camelot's prince saying, "I need to interrogate the prisoner." When the guards unlocked the door and Arthur came in, he told them, "Go back to your station. I can handle this skinny boy." 

Arthur's idea of how to handle the prisoner was to drag him up by his shirt front and shove him into the wall, crowding against him and shoving his muscled thigh between Merlin's legs. 

He bit Merlin on the neck, hard, and Merlin thought, "How the hell am I going to explain a love bite to Gaius? Especially on my second day in town?" 

And then he stopped thinking entirely as Arthur turned him around and pushed his face into the wall, and he felt a strong arm across his back and a hand pulling his head back by a fistful of hair. 

"You'll have to be quiet," Arthur mouthed into Merlin's ear, his voice husky. "If you want to say no, now is the time." 

They stood in charged silence for ten heartbeats, and then Arthur yanked Merlin's trousers down, kicking his legs wider apart at the same time. 

Merlin could feel a hot prick rubbing against the cleft of his arse, and then he heard the click of a small metal box being opened. 

The box contained some sort of herbal unguent, and Arthur quickly smeared it around Merlin's hole and then worked it in with his fingers. He was fast but thorough, and Merlin heard Arthur make a tiny sound as he oiled his prick with the remainder of the salve. 

There was a luxurious slide in, and then Arthur was fucking him in earnest, pistoning into him while his slick fingers pulled on Merlin's cock. Merlin was having trouble keeping quiet, so Arthur covered his mouth with his other hand, the glove still on, and Merlin's eyes rolled back in his head. 

Merlin came first, shooting against the stone, and Arthur followed, warm seed pulsing into Merlin. He held Merlin up, nuzzling his throat while Merlin came down to earth. 

The prince's voice was smug as he gloated, "Told ya." 

* * *

**14**

"Shit," Gwen hisses as she bashes her hip on the doorknob.

"I thought you said we have to be quiet," Gwaine laughs, lips pressed to her neck. "Or have you changed your mind about making our arrangement public."

"Shut up." Gwen shoves him without conviction. "You know we can't."

Gwaine hums his agreement and the vibrations make her shiver. His tongue draws patterns on her neck, his teeth nibbling along the dainty chain of her necklace.

"I can't believe it took you so long to get away from Sir Bores-a-lot."

"Don't call him that," she bristles.

She hates that he can get to her like this – make her feel like she needs to defend her choices when deep down part of her agrees with him. Especially when their arrangement is supposed to be feelings-free.

"Lance is a nice guy and he keeps my parents off my case," she continues, shivering as his breath ghosts across her nipples.

"So he's met the parents?" There's something in his tone she can't place but she refuses to dwell on it.

"Obviously. His family goes to our church."

"It's just a shame he's so _boring_."

"I didn't come in her so we could argue about my maybe suitor."

He smirks. "Then why don't you think of something else you can do with my mouth."

"Get on your back," she orders, pushing him towards the sofa.

"I love it when you boss me around."

His head is barely on the cushion when Gwen mounts him, hiking up her dress and settling her knees on either side of his face.

"You aren't wearing any pants," he chokes out.

"I like to be efficient," she says, grabbing the nylon clinging to her thighs and pulling.

They tear along the seam, exposing her to the warm night air. Gwaine moans and she rewards the sound by lowering herself onto his face. She grips the back of the sofa, bracing herself and starts to move. It should be shameful how much she loves this; riding his face in time to the music playing in the next room. She's going hard enough that her breasts are bouncing and the crucifix around her neck clinks gently as it slides up and down the chain, a constant reminder of the morals she should be upholding. 

Instead she revels in it. Loves the feel of his hands as they cup her ass, fingers kneading the thick flesh. Loves the slick press of his tongue as it alternates between her clit and her entrance. Loves the way her juices trickle down her thighs into his beard. Relishes in knowing he'll smell like her for the rest of the night and confident that whoever he chooses to go home with won't be able to lick or kiss it off him. She claims him as her own and fucks herself on his tongue, using his nose to massage her clit.

She comes silently, refusing to give in to the urge to scream. She sits back on his chest, hoping she'll leaves a smear on his shirt, feeling pleased at how wrecked he looks.

"I need to be in you right fucking now," he pants.

"Then what are you waiting for?"

He growls low and deep in his throat and then he's lifting her up and throwing her on the sideboard.

"Been thinking about this all night," he whispers, rubbing his cockhead against her entrance.

"Even when you were talking to Vivian?" she asks coyly.

" _Especially_ when I was talking to Vivian."

She doesn't know what she's fishing for, but the press of his cock on her oversensitive clit is driving her wild and she can't shut up.

"All the boys say she's got the best tits."

"They're all idiots," he growls. "You've got the best tits I've ever seen."

It's not the kind of compliment she normally likes, but Gwaine choses this moment to push inside and she stops caring. His thrusts are hard enough that the sideboard shakes but she stops worrying about being noisy and gives herself over to the pleasure. Lets him fuck her like he's got something to prove and claim her like she did him. She swallows his moans as he comes, savouring the way she can taste herself on his tongue.

"We should get back." She tucks herself back into the dress and settles the crucifix between her breasts.

"We should just leave, there isn't anyone here worth our time. If we hurry we can still catch a film." 

It's nothing special, but something about the way he says ‘we' gives her a thrill in a way the sex never has.

* * *


	6. Group B (clean)

**15**

Merlin stumbled into Paris just after midnight. A light drizzle hissed and sputtered in the torchlight that illuminated the narrow, cobbled streets. A drunk fell out of a noisy den to Merlin's left, staggering against him like a poorly-weighted sack of potatoes before careening in the opposite direction. 

Merlin straightened his hat, mouth thinning. He continued down the street, searching until he found a scarred sign with a sun etched into the wood above the words _Soleil Levant_. 

"Bonsoir monsieur, welcome to my inn," An elderly man greeted him. His words were kindly, but his face was wearily tolerant. "Can I draw you a bath? Offer you some dinner?" 

"No, thank you," Merlin said. "I am just arrived from Gascony, and I am looking for a Monsieur de Tréville, do you know him?" 

Behind the innkeeper, out of Merlin's sight, a heap of sodden leather straightened and resolved into the approximate shape of a man. 

"Monsieur de Tréville lives at the foot of the royal palace, but you cannot see him at this hour." 

Merlin huffed a breath through his nose. After nearly three months on foot, camping on the banks of the Loire and along the roads leading into Paris, he was exhausted and ready to meet his destiny. But one night of true rest — under a roof and in a bed — couldn't hurt... Pasting a wan smile on his face, he reached for the purse at his belt. Only to find it missing. 

"Merde!" He spun around, patting himself, before recalling the drunk who'd lumbered into him. "Miserable, cretinous _thief_ ," he hissed. He stood at a loss until he remembered the francs he kept sewn into his cuff for emergencies. He proffered them to the innkeeper. "A room, please?" he said, grinning weakly. 

The innkeeper raised a brow. "I will prepare for monsieur our best stall in the stable," he said. 

"...Merci," Merlin sighed.

While he waited, the man in leather got to his feet and pushed his long hair off his face. 

"Excuse me for saying," he said, "but Tréville has no interest in boys."

"Pardon?" Merlin said, but the man had already turned away, heading toward the rooms on the second level. 

"You could try the Rue Tire-Vit," he called over his shoulder, merrily. "You would have a free bed there. Who knows, with a mouth like yours? You might even turn a modest profit." 

Heat rushed into Merlin's face like a wave crashing onto a beach. "How _dare_ —" he began, but the swine had already closed himself in his room. 

Darting a quick glance around for the innkeeper, Merlin stole up the steps after him and prepared to draw his sword before bursting through the door—

—where he was promptly slammed against its opposite side. 

"Ah," Merlin winced, the rough wood digging splinters into his cheek. 

"How can I help you?" his assailant asked pleasantly.

"You can unhand me, and apologise for the insult you offered me," Merlin growled.

"Oh? It is an insult to be called comely now?" 

"What?" Merlin slowed his struggling. "That was hardly your insinuation."

"If it pleases you, I apologise, little coquette. I meant no offense. Allow me to make it up to you?" 

"I am no coquette!" Merlin spluttered, choking when a hand cupped his prick through his trousers. 

"We shall have to agree to disagree." The man shrugged. "Now, tell me, what business do you have with Tréville?" 

"None of yours!" Merlin gasped. The man maintained a steady stroke, hips caging Merlin in. He'd never been touched so before in his life. His cock stood stiff, prickling and taut. 

"You might at least introduce yourself to the man tugging you off. Here, I am called Gwaine. Now, it is your turn." Gwaine flicked his wrist; Merlin scrabbled for a handhold on the door. 

"I'm Merlin," he panted. "Of Gascony, son of Balinor, and I've come to Paris to join the Musketeers and protect the king as my father did before me." 

"Oh!" Gwaine said, sounding truly surprised. "In that case, welcome to Paris." He set his teeth into the tender skin under Merlin's jaw, steadying him as he jolted and came in his trousers. 

"I...don't understand," Merlin said, catching his breath as Gwaine let him off the door. 

"No, not yet," Gwaine agreed. "But tomorrow you will meet Leon and Elyan, and we will introduce you to Tréville."

" _You_?" Merlin said. "You will introduce me to Tréville?"

"Of course." Gwaine grinned. "You have already crossed swords with a Musketeer; what further introduction does a man need?"

* * *

**16**

Merlin sits at the kitchen counter, watching Arthur cook spaghetti for later. The rolled up sleeves of Arthur's shirt reveal the golden skin of his strong arms.

Merlin squirms. The pressure in his bladder from all the water he drank earlier is uncomfortable. He tries to breathe evenly but it's hard, so he presses his hands to his thighs and crosses his legs, tightening them hard.

He shifts again and Arthur turns around, placing his palm on Merlin's knee.

"Merlin, be still."

Merlin tries, but he winces when the butt plug deep inside him shifts, making the pressure on his bladder more urgent. Arthur's touch is grounding, though, and Merlin focuses on his breathing while Arthur goes back to chopping.

Minutes pass. Merlin closes his eyes and drifts, listening to the rhythmic chop-chop-chop of Arthur's knife.

The sound stops and Merlin startles.

"Okay," Arthur says. He washes his hands, then fills a clean glass with water and hands it to Merlin.

Merlin shakes his head, because one more and he'll _burst_. Arthur waits with his hand outstretched. Merlin takes the glass and sips, but Arthur puts his hand under the bottom of the glass and tips it up so Merlin has to gulp fast.

"Good boy," Arthur says, and the fact that he means it makes Merlin all warm inside. He kisses Merlin softly, his tongue barely brushing Merlin's lips, then tugs on Merlin's hand until Merlin slides off the stool and follows Arthur to the bathroom, each step cautious because he is so full.

Arthur undresses them both, slowly and meticulously, and then he steps into the empty bathtub. He helps Merlin in, and Merlin slowly sits with his back to Arthur, half lying in Arthur's arms.

He needs to piss. He needs to go so badly he's afraid to move, but Arthur's gentle strokes up and down his arms soothe him a bit.

"You're doing so well," Arthur says. His cock is twitching against Merlin's backside. "Do you feel how hard you make me?"

Merlin nods. His breathing goes rapid and shallow when Arthur taps gently on the base of the plug.

"Oh God," Merlin moans.

When the plug leaves his body, Merlin almost loses it. The lack of pressure relaxes his muscles, and he has to use all his strength to keep all the pee inside.

Arthur's fingers, warm and slick from silicone lube, slip inside Merlin's hole, taking the place of the plug and stretching Merlin further. Arthur's other hand sneaks around Merlin, coming to rest against Merlin's protruding belly. He presses a little bit and tears well up in Merlin's eyes.

Arthur withdraws his fingers and pushes the head of his cock and then his whole shaft inside in one slow move.

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck," Merlin cants over and over. He's too full. It hurts. It's so good.

When Arthur starts moving, his thrusts deep and slow, Merlin almost blacks out. He can't even moan anymore; he can't move, he can't breathe. His body is ready to burst. He feels Arthur moving underneath him, in him, and when Arthur's palm presses again on Merlin's abdomen, Merlin starts sobbing. He can't get enough air, so his cries are ragged and short.

"Shhh," Arthur whispers into his ear. "I've got you. You're so beautiful, so perfect for me." He grips Merlin's cock and strokes it to the pace of his thrusts, and Merlin can't take it, he can't, he can't....

"Let go, baby." Arthur's voice is a breathy whisper.

And Merlin does, his whole body shuddering on a strangled cry as he comes.

Arthur keeps his cock buried to the root inside of Merlin, and he presses harder on Merlin's bladder.

"Go on," he says, his voice hoarse.

Merlin sobs as the first trickle leaks out of his cock, but then more of the golden fluid flows, mixing with the come on Merlin's stomach. 

He can feel Arthur tensing, Arthur's teeth biting into his shoulder, but it's all muted by the relief, the sheer ecstasy of letting go so completely. His piss is hot on their skin, and he's going and going as if he'll never stop.

"So beautiful," Arthur says through his orgasm, stroking Merlin's hair, kissing him.

Merlin goes lax. He's floating, far away, warm and safe and so, so spent. He might still be crying, but Arthur's kissing the tears off his face and Merlin's kissing him back. It's heaven.

Soon, Arthur will wash them off and tuck Merlin into bed, and Merlin will sleep in the warm embrace, safe and cared for and loved.

* * *

**17**

"You stopped. Even when I told you not to," Arthur says without looking up from the map spread out in front of him. He knows Merlin by his footsteps, by the rise and fall of his breath. "At the crossroads."

Merlin shuffles his feet, takes a few steps closer, hesitates, then comes to stands at the table with Arthur. His index finger traces a line from Camelot to where they are now, the last waystation on the road that cuts through the south of the kingdom. 

"I saw it, the scrap of red cloth, not yet faded by the sun or rain. Tied up with the rest of the trinkets." They'd shivered in the wind and made an unsettling sound, bits of metal, wood, and cloth, offerings left to the old Roman spirits said to guard the crossroads. "The Romans abandoned this land long ago."

"I know. But I couldn't not stop. Didn't you feel it?" Merlin fingertips leave the map to touch Arthur's hand. "It's only a scrap of cloth. It could be yours or mine, that's why I left it." 

Arthur shakes his head, but he's lying and, worse, Merlin knows he's lying. His horse had balked and Arthur's heart had stuttered, then settled only when he saw the cloth that Merlin had left. "You're being superstitious. And overprotective," he adds when Merlin rests his hand atop Arthur's. 

"That's pretty much impossible, given how much you don't look after yourself." 

Arthur keeps his eyes down, shifts his hand slightly so it fits more neatly beneath Merlin's. It fits perfectly, though, and Merlin's hand is slim and strong, callused in different places than Arthur's. 

"What did you pray for? At the crossroads?"

"For our journey. For your safety. For-for you," Merlin says, when Arthur finally looks up at him.

Merlin's hand fits perfectly against his own, and Arthur knows that Merlin's body would, too. That his chest would curve against Arthur's back and his arms around Arthur's waist with no effort at all, just the warm press of skin to skin and Merlin's body wrapped around his. 

What is imperfect, though, and what flutters in Arthur's chest, unsettling him, is the feeling that he gets around Merlin sometimes is the same he felt the crossroads. The uncanny feeling of knowledge that springs more from sense than understanding. 

"If anyone else had seen it, they would know about you." Arthur will not speak of it because Merlin will not speak of it, but he cannot let it rest here. He takes Merlin's hand in his own, bring the palm to his mouth, and presses a kiss to the center. 

Merlin doesn't pull his hand away, but he doesn't argue, either, and perhaps he, like Arthur, cannot cross more than one line tonight. He turns his hand against Arthur's face, fingers brushing Arthur's cheek and tracing his jawline as he'd traced the line on the map: careful, deliberate. 

He walks around the table before Arthur and rests his hands on Arthur's shoulders, brushes his lips against Arthur's before Arthur can decide to kiss him again. "I will protect you."

Merlin can afford to be careful with him: he knows Arthur's heart, and he can read Arthur's longing and desire inside it. He keeps himself closed and quiet, keeps something unspoken between them. 

Arthur cannot bear it, neither the gentle care that Merlin offers nor the uncanny silence that settles between them. He cannot turn away, either, however, and when Merlin kisses him once more, he can hear the rustle of branches and the shivering of the trinkets. 

They are one in the same: Merlin, and the magic that skirts the corners of Albion. 

And there is something inside Arthur, too, that is drawn to both of them, that is part of them both. He sinks himself into the silent kiss that Merlin gives him, parts his lips and lets himself be drawn. Desire shivers through him like the thin spring wind, and then swells, warm and sudden, until he is hard and needy, pressing himself against Merlin with a sigh. 

He knows Merlin by his touch, by his breath and by the slide of his body inside Arthur's; by the fluttering inside his own chest and the perfect knowledge he has now of Merlin's body.

* * *

**18**

**April 15, 2001**

Arthur spun around with a shout, and proudly held up a plastic shovel in one hand and a Frisbee in the other. 

"I am King Arthur, and I will defeat you!" he yelled as angrily as a toddler could, and charged forward, pouncing on the mound of sand in mighty rage. 

Behind him, a tiny Merlin cheered him on and started flailing about, making pew noises as if he were also fighting the monster, but with magic. Just as he was wearing the beast down, with Arthur’s help of course, he lost balance and fell down with a thump. Confused and dazed, tears began to well up in his eyes. A tantrum was imminent. 

Arthur’s eyes grew wide and quickly, with an extra stab to the sand mound for extra measure, he exclaimed "Haha! The beast is dead! Take that! That’s what you get for attacking Merlin!" Then he threw down his armor and sat down next to Merlin and said, "I’ll always protect you from monsters." 

Merlin looked up at him, distracted and no longer about to cry, and asked, "Really?" 

Arthur smiled goofily and replied, "Cross my heart and hope to die," matching his fingers to his words as he spoke.

**October 9, 2009**

Merlin was bored. Merlin was bored and all he wanted to do was go upstairs and finish his video game. Instead, what was he doing? He was doing math. Or rather, Arthur was doing math and Merlin’s eyes were glazing over. 

Suddenly he felt a sharp pain on his head. 

"Ow! What was that for?" he yelped.

"Merlin are you even paying attention?" Arthur asked. He looked annoyed, which was understandable seeing as Arthur was supposed to be tutoring Merlin and Merlin was supposed to be passing his algebra test next week.

"Yes I was paying attention, clotpole," Merlin muttered the last bit grumpily. 

Arthur huffed, "I’m not going to keep helping you if you don’t listen." 

"But it’s just so boring," Merlin whined. 

"Sorry it’s boring but I have better things to do!" Arthur exclaimed.

Merlin paused for a moment, then said slowly, "Ok. I have an idea. How about we go play video games now, then I’ll pay attention later. Deal?"

Arthur considered his offer for approximately two seconds, then agreed, "Deal." Then they both, as per ritual, spit into their hands and shook on it. 

**January 14, 2013**

Arthur couldn’t keep his eyes off Merlin, even when they were in class and supposed to be learning about Scott Fitzgerald and how to write a research paper. 

Deciding that enough was enough, he wrote, "Will you go out with me?" on a piece of paper and slid it over to Merlin’s desk. 

He watched as Merlin looked up from his book, read his note, and whipped around to face him. Merlin was utterly confounded. 

Hastily, he scribbled, "are you serious?" and slid the note back. 

Arthur, suddenly feeling very nervous, wrote "Cross my heart and hope to die," on the next line and slowly pushed it back. 

Merlin, still looking confused but less aggravated, nodded yes.

**January 21, 2013**

Arthur pushed Merlin back onto his bed, following him closely and twisting his hands in Merlin’s hair. He dropped kisses down Merlin’s neck, loving the way that Merlin writhed under him and pulled him closer. 

"Are we seriously doing this?" Merlin breathed. Instead of answering, Arthur reached back up and pulled Merlin into a kiss, deepening it as Merlin moaned. 

Pulling back just enough so that he could see Merlin properly, Arthur asked, "Are you sure you want to?"

Merlin nodded and said, "Cross my heart and hope to die."

* * *

**19**

The street was dirty and narrow and not at all Arthur's usual haunt, but then, he'd never actually haunted anyone. 

He'd also never been dead, but there was nothing habit wouldn't eventually settle into.  
Perhaps he should have worn one more often; he might not quite have turned into the devil.

*

His teeth were sharp and out of line, but then, they always had been. Biting his tongue had never made him feel this thirsty, though, nor had the rain ever felt so useless. 

The man in the street smelled like a piña colada: sweet, tempting and in dire need of an umbrella, and never had Arthur so badly wanted to be drunk. 

The ghostly taste of pineapple tinged with iron made Arthur's tongue curl with want long after he'd let the man walk away.

*

He wished he could pretend he didn't know what was happening. But he'd read Dracula, Interview With A Vampire and Twilight (he'd ended up with an A in English, shut up, he was destined to be an A, his future bright and promising and _bloody_ brilliant – ). 

At least he didn't sparkle. Much. 

*

It turned out the man lived round the corner – Arthur could taste the _thud thud thud_ of every heartbeat in every tiny chamber of every person in every room; it made his teeth lengthen and a peculiar kind of hunger beat in his gut; but there was something about this one, even as Arthur pinned him to the wall and Merlin said, "Um, you're wrinkling my vest," and pushed passed him all flushed and angry and with a delicious smell under his skin that Arthur would track and infinitely tried to parse. 

It was just a shame he was so annoying. "Go away," he would say, while Arthur was just minding his own business, and "You haven't killed anyone, have you?" He tried waving garlic under Arthur's nose once. It smelled delicious. 

He spent an unusual amount of time banging on Arthur's door and shouting "Get out of the bathroom, I need to be at work in fifteen!" and honestly, Arthur hadn't thought he'd be such a prude.

*

He didn't mean to stick around. He didn't mean for it to feel like home when everything else felt odd and off kilter. But Merlin did keep a lot of delicious-smelling (blood) garlic around, and Arthur was only (sort of) human, after all.

*

"Hm," said Arthur. The road was narrow and dirty. So was the cross, but it would do. It looked dull and dark and dangerous in the moonlight, and they both looked at it. 

"Well," said Merlin, "I've got wood. You may want to keep away." He hovered around the thing Arthur found he couldn't quite look at. 

"Is there any reason you won't pick it up?" Arthur asked after a long pause.

"… Seems unnecessary," said Merlin. The corner of his teeth gleamed in the moonlight. 

It turned out he really did taste a bit like piña colada, or maybe Arthur's senses were just that fucked up. Arthur could feel a dull thud in his teeth, but it was nothing like a heartbeat; it was like the dull rush of desire to his cock, which he pressed eagerly into the wall, with Merlin in between, and pleasure hummed, quite pleased with itself, along his teeth and his palate and the back of his tongue, all the way to the root of his cock. It felt like coming home.

"I couldn't stand to lose you again," Merlin said, licking his teeth. "I'm sorry. Didn't expect it to feel like this, though. Christ." He lets his head fall back and there's a new rush of blood over Arthur's tongue.

"Wrong century," Arthur tells him. "Couldn't you at least sparkle a bit?"

"Eh," says Merlin, and sparkles, just a little bit, just for Arthur.

* * *

**20**

_Jab, jab, block. Jab, hook, parry._

Arthur is a crowd-pleaser, throwing loud punches and showing off those new teeth of his, bitten tight around the mouthguard, puffing out his chest like a bird during mating season. The irony was never lost on Merlin, but especially not now with Gwen making him swish, knocking his head about and checking the tape on his wrists.

"Look at me," Gwen says, because Merlin only has eyes for Arthur, fighting off his corner man, Leon, to flirt with the audience some more, and Merlin wants to split those wide, smiling lips with bare fists. Gwen slaps his cheeks, and he finally tears his eyes from Arthur.

"You are quick, graceful, fierce, a bird of prey." She makes him spit, shoves the plastic between his teeth again. "He's a turkey. He's nothing. He's _dinner_. Eat him up."

He'd love to.

It's a catchweight bout and doesn't count for anything, but Merlin has wanted to punch that smile off Arthur's face ever since the first time he used it as a weapon, that morning five months ago when Arthur had thrown Merlin's shorts at his head and said, "No breakfast. I'm gonna shower; don't join me."

_Hook, uppercut, block, hook._

Merlin is an inside fighter, fast, observant, and good with a counterpunch. Arthur's a hell of a lot stronger but not sure what to do when a man gets too close.

Merlin remembers the taste of Arthur's cock, the smell of that sweet patch of skin in the crease of his hip, the sounds Arthur made as Merlin sucked him off, made him come undone.

Arthur bounces from foot to foot, waiting for the bell to start the fourth round, and Merlin knows how much Arthur likes to have his nipples pinched, that Arthur eats arse like the fucking champion he is. He's lost in it, in the memory of fucking against Arthur's pillow with Arthur face-deep in his arse, tongue sloppy and wet and so goddamn good around the two fingers he had shoved into Merlin.

_Jab, jab, cross. Jab, cross, hook._

Arthur gets Merlin on the ropes within seconds of the eighth bell, laying blows across Merlin's ribs that don't hurt as much as they ought to, and Merlin realises he's pulling his punches.

_You fucker!_ Merlin thinks, connecting his glove hard against Arthur's chin, just enough to make Arthur stagger and let Merlin duck away, regain his footing, make Arthur come to him for once.

Merlin bares his teeth, feral at the memory of begging Arthur to fuck him, as though Arthur could be trusted with that raw, fragile piece of him. And Arthur had relented, held him down and filled him up, licked promises into Merlin's neck. Arthur had been greedy for it, hungry for Merlin's choked sobs, how much he needed this: _more, more, louder, tell me_.

_Block, block, block, block, block, block._

By the tenth round, Merlin is exhausted. Arthur's punches are wide and wild, and there's nothing behind them. Merlin gets him in a clinch, holds him close, absorbs the last of Arthur's energy in his ribs, already bruised and aching, but not so much as the soft part of him they're meant to protect.

"I know how you fight," Merlin says around his mouthguard, muffled and unintelligible even to himself, but Arthur hears him. Arthur understands. "That's why you can't win."

Merlin shoves Arthur away and throws everything he has into a right cross, hitting Arthur square in his smug jaw, and he falls in slow-motion.

Arthur is down and out.

Time dilates after Merlin is declared the winner. A dozen people jump into the ring, lifting Arthur's eyelids to shine lights in his eyes, turning faces to and fro, inspecting ribs. Leon is still fussing over Arthur after the doctors have deemed him sound, and Gwen chases him off, leaving Merlin alone in the ring with Arthur.

_Eat him up_ , Gwen had said, but all Merlin wants to do is sleep. People are streaming out of the arena, and Merlin is unsteady on his feet. He falls to his knees, spits out his mouthguard, curls up on the mat next to Arthur.

Arthur flops his head over to face Merlin and just looks at him, teeth red with blood when he smiles, but his eyes crinkle with it, loosen the tightness in Merlin's chest.

"You're awake," Merlin says, inches closer. "You look like shit."

Arthur throws a heavy arm over Merlin's chest and says, "How about breakfast?"

* * *

**21**

_'You were such a smug little shit…_

Arthur punctuates each word with a thrust, trailing off into a groan when Merlin grabs the headboard and writhes on his cock. For all of his clumsiness at work, Merlin turns positively serpentine in bed and the sight of his pale back arching in the pale light of the morning wrecks Arthur's senses.

"I was," Merlin says, shifting back into the seat of Arthur's hips and grinding down. "And you loved it. I know how much you like my smart mouth…"

Merlin has gotten entirely too cheeky for his own good over the years and yes, Arthur fucking loves his smart mouth, but he can't let that pass. Gripping the damp hairs at Merlin's nape with one hand, Arthur shoves him down onto all fours and uses two fingers of his other hand—the two that were buried in Merlin's puffy arse not ten minutes ago, to fishhook that disgusting smart mouth.

It has just the effect Arthur knows it will. The sound that Merlin makes is guttural and filthy and, with Merlin's saliva starting to slide over his fingers, Arthur uses the fingers he has in Merlin's mouth to drag Merlin back onto his cock over and over.

"I knew this pretty mouth was going to be mine from the first time you crossed my path," Arthur grunts, jamming the rest of his fingers into Merlin's mouth. Merlin's teeth clamp down in his fingers just hard enough to make Arthur hiss and he jerks Merlin's head back just a bit harder in retaliation. 

Merlin is drooling in earnest now, lips puffy and saliva dripping off his chin to form a puddle on the bedclothes. Because he knows what Merlin likes, Arthur pulls his fingers from Merlin's mouth and smears saliva all over Merlin's face.

" _Fuck. Yes,_ Merlin whines, tossing his head and fucking himself back onto Arthur's cock. He fists his own cock frantically with one hand while the other reaches back to pull Arthur in with each thrust. 

Arthur is close. He can feel the heat rising in his cheeks as he rapidly approaches his orgasm. Arthur forces Merlin's face into the wet spot on the sheets just as it comes crashing over him and he roars his satisfaction, his hips jerking sharply as he pumps his cum deep into Merlin's hole. 

Merlin arches his back and _keens_ low in his throat. It's the most pitiful noise Arthur has even heard a human being utter and it makes his cock twitch hard where he's still buried in Merlin's arse. He shifts back onto his heels, his cock slipping wetly out of Merlin's hole. Merlin whines again and no, _that_ is the most pitiful noise Arthur has ever heard. He's halfway hard again at the sound but his cock will have to wait because the sun is fully risen now and the castle is stirring.

Merlin is writhing in the sheets, pumping his cock madly, but they both know it's no use.

"Do you need me to fill that hole for you, Merlin," Arthur asks, spreading Merlin's arse cheeks with both hands and breathing on his hole. It flutters rapidly before clenching down tight. Arthur presses a kiss to the puffy rim and Merlin jerks sharply, thrusting his hips backward.

"Tell me what you want, Merlin," Arthur teases, "since you seem to have so much mouth to perpetually cross me." They really don't have time for this, the daily clamor of the courtyard filtering up through the open window, but he needs to hear Merlin beg. Then he'll be satisfied.

He taps gently on Merlin's hole and Merlin doesn't disappoint.

"Fuck, _please_ , Arthur," Merlin whines, still pumping his cock fruitlessly. "I need…please…"

He's too far gone now and Arthur knows that's the he's going to get. He rubs Merlin's hole firmly before forcing three of his fingers in to the hilt. He sets up a brutal pace, fucking his cum out of Merlin's hole with the same fervor that he planted it there. It froths up, smearing over his fingers, and the sound Merlin's arsehole makes as Arthur fucks his finger into it is pure filth.

Arthur feels the moment Merlin orgasms before he hears the helpless wail. Merlin's hole clamps down hard on Arthur's fingers pulsing in time with the spurts from Merlin's cock. When it's over, Merlin pitches forward into the sheets, sliding off of Arthur's fingers.

Arthur leaves him there in his wet spots and goes to flag down breakfast.

* * *

**22**

Merlin was not invisible like he was supposed to be travelling the metro. He had been caught staring. The man had caught Merlin's attention for being out of place. He was smartly dress, blond, exuding confidence... The lawyer type. The kind that had chauffeurs, private cars... Bright blue eyes had locked with his, something _suggestive_ in the small, knowing smile he'd flashed. Damn it, it had been far too long. 

Suddenly the doors opened and several armed guards got in. Merlin felt panic rise. 

"Identity papers everyone."

It was the biggest risk Merlin took when he used public transport. After all these years... Was he really going to get caught? The doors closed. Nobody was getting out. Could he use magic to try and escape? 

The first officer was already in front Merlin.

"He's with me," a voice behind him said, the blond man, "my manservant. I'm sorry to say I forgot to bring his paperwork. But here's mine." He held up a gold card.

The officer looked at it and cast one last glance at Merlin. "Sorry to disturb you, mister Pendragon."

"Arthur, please." the man, Arthur, said congenially.

"Stay with me." Arthur muttered to Merlin. They waited out the raid. Merlin followed Arthur meekly. Outside a limo was waiting. The driver didn't even blink when Arthur ushered Merlin inside.

"You're a cross, aren't you." Arthur broke the tense silence.

Merlin didn't answer. Yes. His name had been crossed out of all registers. He had magic. He didn't have the right to exist. And tonight they nearly got him. They could have made him disappear.  
"What's your name," Arthur asked.

"Merlin," he whispered, the word feeling foreign.

"You're safe now." Arthur said.

Safe. Could it be?

_Will taking a bullet for him. Gilli throwing himself off the roof. Freya in chains, her voice echoing in Merlin's head, "Maybe it's for the best..."_

"It's okay, Merlin, Merlin..." He kept repeating his name like he understood what it meant to Merlin to have his identity acknowledged. Merlin felt hands at both sides of his face, soothingly rubbing his temples. His name being spoken gently, repeatedly.

Slowly the mist cleared up in Merlin's head and he allowed himself to believe that things were alright. That he was _safe_. For now. 

The moment the realization set in, a myriad of other sensations flooded him. Like te proximity of the man, the gently fingers in Merlin's neck moving from one sensitive spot to the next and how his lips were so close to Merlin's. He didn't think anything when he pressed his lips hungrily against Arthur's, desire took over. He kissed Arthur like a starved man attacking a feast. Arthur responded just as greedily, making their kiss wet and rough.   
Merlin's entire body felt like it'd only now really come to life. Everything was taut with want. And what he wanted was _more_. 

Arthur seemed to sense it too, as he pressed Merlin closer, moving them both into a more vertical position on the leather sofa. Merlin groaned as their bodies alligned, he didn't stop his hips from bucking into the hard line of Arthur's cock.   
Arthur moaned too, lightly biting Merlin's lips as he worked one hand undeneath the waistline of Merlin's trousers.  
"I want... Please..."  
He didn't know what he wanted. He just wanted everything this man could offer.   
But he didn't need to explain. Arthur made quick work of Merlin's trousers and boxers, not hesitating to take Merlin's cock in his smooth, warm hands. Merlin closed his eyes at the glorious sensation. He felt and heard Arthur move but was shocked to feel a kiss being pressed to the crown of his cock. His eyes flew back open staring up at the daydream-like figure now positioned between his legs.

"You don't have to..."

Arthur silenced him with another kiss, this one wet, Arthur's tongue sliding over his erection. He smiled at Merlin. "Let me do this for you."

Merlin couldn't speak, it took all of his willpower not to scream out as Arthur sucked him off enthusiastically. He didn't know how soundproof these private limousines were.

It didn't last very long. Everything felt more intense than it ever had. Coming down slowly from the orgasm, Merlin was lying with his eyes closed, listening to the sound of the car's engine. Arthur was lying in the small space behind him, face nuzzling Merlin's neck. 

He hadn't yet returned the favour, Merlin thought. But he was in a car with Arthur _Pendragon_ , Merlin slowly began to realize. His night was far from over yet...

* * *

**23**

"Now what's a good boy like you doing at a crossroads like this?"

Arthur spun around, eyes widening as he caught sight of the figure leaning against the signpost. Pale and waifish, wearing low slung jeans and a shirt as black as his hair. 

"I've come to make a deal."

"Have you now?" The demon grinned, his gait lazy as he circled Arthur. "And what kind of deal are you looking for, a nice handsome boy such as yourself?"

"My sister – she's plagued with nightmares. I can hear her screaming at night. I just want her to have some peace."

"How noble of you." The man chuckled. "I'm Merlin, by the way."

"Arthur."

The man's smile turned into a smirk as he blinked – bright blue eyes turning black as night. "I know." Another blink and they returned to blue.

Arthur stood his ground, hardly phased. He'd come here for something and he wasn't leaving without it. "My deal?"

"Oh, I'm getting to it. Don't get your knickers in a twist." Merlin laughed, coming closer to the blond. He raised a hand as if to touch him, only to stop a fingers width away. "You know…You're much too pretty to have your soul doomed for hell. Perhaps we can make a different trade?"

"Like what?"

"Usually deals are sealed with a kiss. I think I'd like more than just a kiss from you."

A blush found it's way to Arthur's cheeks as he turned his gaze downwards. "I give you what you want and you'll help my sister?" He asked softly.

"You have my word, Arthur Pendragon."

Arthur nodded, determination clear in his eyes. He tilted his head forward so Merlin's fingers were touching his cheek, brushing his lips across the demon's. He gasped as he was roughly pulled against the taller man, Merlin's arm tight around his waist as their kiss was deepened. He felt more than heard Merlin's low growl as he bit at his bottom lip, Arthur's own mouth falling open as he submitted, opening under the demon's guidance.

"Beautiful." Merlin purred as he pulled back, bringing a hand up to Arthur's hair, pulling his head back to reveal his neck. Rubbing his nose across blond's throat, Merlin pressed his lips against the stretched skin, scraping his teeth over the other's jaw. Arthur let out a soft groan, his eyelids fluttering at the feeling.

"You like that? Bit of teeth?" The demon grinned, going about sucking a mark at the base of Arthur's neck. Arthur bit his lip, holding back for a moment before a sigh escaped him.

"Yes." He breathed, finding himself going half limp in Merlin's arms, trusting him to hold and guide him. Merlin seemed more than happy to do so, pulling back from the blond's neck to drag him over the signpost, pressing him against it. 

Arthur found himself pressed face first against the signpost, Merlin plastered to his back, lips brushing over the nape of his neck. "I want to eat you up." The demon murmured, fingers already working on Arthur's belt, impatiently tugging at his trousers. "Tell me I can."

"Y-You can."

Merlin practically growled at that, going to his knees behind Arthur as he pulled roughly at the other man's pants and trousers, making the blond shiver as the cool night air touched his bare skin. "Spread." He murmured, voice rough. Arthur made a soft sound at the back of his throat as he widened his stance, letting the signpost take a bit more of his weight.

That was all the invitation Merlin needed. Bringing his hands up to spread Arthur open before him, the demon leaned forward to lick a wide stripe up the other's cleft, making Arthur keen. That sound of pure pleasure was music to Merlin's ears, and he wanted to hear it again and again. He continued to work Arthur over, his fingers bruising the blond's skin, laving his tongue over the man's most intimate place. The muscle slowly started to give under his attentions, enough at least for Merlin to press a finger inside. Arthur moaned at the feeling, automatically pushing back against him.

"Touch yourself, Arthur." Merlin breathed, pulling his head back to work his finger into the blond properly. "Come for me."

Later, laying together in the grass, Merlin looked at Arthur with a soft smile. "Still using ‘Gana as an excuse to see me?" He teased. Arthur huffed, slapping lightly at Merlin's hip as they curled up under the stars.

"Shut up, Merlin."

* * *

**24**

"Watch out for the right cross," Elyan tells him several times before the match. "I know Emrys doesn't look like much, but he's finished more fights with that cross than you've had hot dinners."

Arthur doesn't need the warning. Emrys won the 1931 prize-fight against Percival Gully, and any man that could take down Gully shouldn't be underestimated. He's heard other boxers speak of him derisively – one said he had a face so delicate, he didn't know whether to fight him or fuck him. But that was a man who Emrys had beaten in two rounds, so Arthur didn't take his word for much. 

He makes his own judgements, nowadays.

***

He doesn't see Emrys in person until they're on opposite sides of the ring. His face truly is delicate, but it's sharp at the edges too, with a thin white scar running down his left temple. His body is lean and wiry, and he reveals a labourer's tan when he strips to the waist. 

Arthur's skin is still pale, like it hasn't adjusted to his new place in the world yet, like it doesn't know he's not a Pendragon anymore. But his hands understand better. Already they're callused and hardened, the knuckles permanently bruised and painful. They know that when Uther said get out, he meant forever, and a bare knuckle boxer is all Arthur is now, all he'll ever be.

Emrys winks at him as the caller announces the fight, and Arthur stares him out. He can't think about the invitation in Emrys' grin right now; can't afford the distraction. He needs to take home the money today.

Emrys jabs out the second the bell rings and Arthur elbow blocks with ease. He swings a haymaker but Emrys ducks back. He's quick on his feet, though Arthur knew that already. But Arthur's got more blunt force behind him and he slips through Emrys guard to land an uppercut that sends the other man reeling.

He recovers quickly and they jab back and forth a while, neither landing many blows until Arthur catches Emrys with a hook to the ribs.

Suddenly Emrys is clinching him, pulling Arthur close in a strange parody of an embrace. Arthur breathes in the heady smell of the other man's sweat for a moment, feels the heat of his skin. Emrys' arms are hugging his so tight he can't move, but Arthur needs a breather too so he allows it for a few seconds before shrugging him off.

Their bodies are still very close and Arthur just has time to notice how blue Emrys' eyes are. 

And then the right cross takes him down, of course.

***

It's no surprise that he finds himself in Emrys' boarding house room three hours later, drinking cheap whiskey and comparing battle scars.

It's even less surprising when Emrys backs him up against the wall and bites a kiss onto his lips that makes Arthur dizzy with want, more punch-drunk than he's ever been in the ring. He lets Emrys throw him on the bed and then he spreads his legs, offers himself up like a prize. To the victor, the spoils.

Emrys fucks like he fights, all relentless energy; pushing Arthur further than he thinks he can go, and making him like it. He pins Arthur's hands to the bed as he thrusts into him, swallowing Arthur's moans and cries with a greedy, hungry mouth. He licks up the blood still trickling from Arthur's split lip, sucks fresh bruises into his neck; finishes what he started in the ring by marking Arthur all over as his own.

Arthur wants it – no, he _needs_ it. Needs to feel like he belongs to someone again, that he's not alone in the world.

It's only after they're done and Arthur feels the familiar shame creeping into his chest that Emrys surprises him. Wraps his arms around him with a tenderness Arthur never expected. Presses a lingering kiss to his swollen cheek, and says to call him Merlin.

"Unusual name."

"Whereas Arthur Smith is a very ordinary one. Much more ordinary than, say, Pendragon."

Arthur freezes but Merlin just hugs him closer.

"Don't hide. What happened?"

"My father disowned me."

"Why?"

Heart thumping, Arthur reaches out to stroke along Merlin's thigh.

"For this." 

Merlin's eyes are sharp in the dim light.

"More fool him."

They don't speak again, just lie together and wait for morning, when they will rise; bruised, and aching, and ready for the fight to come.

* * *

**25**

Arthur's cold numb fingers almost drop the lighter when he tries to fumble it out of his pocket.

Click. Nothing. He curses quietly. Clickclick. The flame stutters into life, small and pale in the damp darkness of the November night, barely enough to light the candle he is holding. The last piece of the spell.

"Emrys," he whispers and blows the candle out, wishing he didn't have to use this name. It's wrong and reluctant on Arthur's tongue, yet it's the one that works, shifting the air. A pair of eyes resembling burning coals looks up from the circle of round stones Arthur built earlier. 

"Arthur," Merlin breathes, his whole face brightening as he smiles the innocent smile that proclaims that he wears his heart in his sleeve. 

Merlin steps out of the circle – not that it was ever meant to hold him – and presses close, blessedly hiding his eyes as he does so. For a short moment Arthur pretends everything is alright again, that the Merlin in his arms is flesh and blood.

"I missed you," he mumbles into Merlin's hair. A tang of bitter smoke lingers on him.

Merlin pulls back even though Arthur tries to wordlessly tug him back in, and the fire-gold eyes look up and search his gaze, finding all of Arthur's discomfort with no effort at all. 

"I missed you too," Merlin says, voice barely above a whisper. "I miss you all the time."

Arthur kisses him to silence, half missing his lips in his desperate to hurry to bury the feelings and words that have to be said if they continue speaking. 

Merlin is instantly hot and eager against him, lips parting and tongue licking out to Arthur's mouth. Their bodies press so close it's almost uncomfortable, every inch that can possibly touch touching, and yet they need to be closer. Joined.

"Tell me we can go somewhere?" Merlin says, his wet lips brushing against Arthur's with every word. 

"Hotel." He nips Merlin's lips lightly, unable to resist. It's been a long forever and Arthur wants. Every cell of his body is screaming for Merlin. "Fifteen minutes."

With Merlin there in his arms, full of familiar angles and smooth skin and lips screaming sex, fifteen minutes sounds like an eternity, and from the pitiful whine Merlin lets out Arthur figures he probably agrees. 

"Car?" he asks. 

Merlin answers by shoving him backwards with his body while his hands fondle Arthur buttocks, and oh fuck Arthur really wants the pants out of the way so Merlin can scratch and bite and lick –

He stumbles over a stray branch and with a curse turns partially away from Merlin to drag them through the bushes to the car and to the roomy leather covered backseats. 

The sound of their laboured breaths fills the air between them, and Arthur takes the moment of stillness to appreciate how utterly wrecked Merlin looks, black hair sticking everywhere and tiny droplets of sweat glistening on his skin. With unsteady hands Merlin reaches to fumble with Arthur's buttons, but he stops halfway, utterly useless. Luckily Arthur has no problems with getting rid of both his shirt and Merlin's black hoodie. 

It's no more graceful than it was when they were sixteen because car sex in never graceful (at least this time Merlin doesn't elbow him in the face) but they manage to get at least somewhat undressed, every touch of skin against skin singing a song of longing and pleasure. 

It's a song that builds to crescendo far too quickly as Arthur hastily prepares Merlin with two lubed fingers and thrusts his rock hard cock in. A couple of vicious shoves that are sure to leave carpet burn on Merlin's lovely back, with his fingers wrapped around Merlin's cock smearing precome on Arthur's stomach, and they are both gone, flying after one another and then crashing down, disgusting but momentarily content. 

"I'm not going to eat your soul, you know?" Merlin says into his ear after a moment. 

"Wha'?" His mind hasn't quite managed to connect with reality yet.

Wordlessly Merlin reaches up, wrapping his fingers around the thin chain holding a silver cross around his neck. It's carved with old words, meant to protect his soul from demons. 

"Morgana insisted – I meant to take it off. I'm sorry."

Merlin's inhuman eyes continue burning and Arthur hates himself for the lie.

Merlin kisses him softly. "I love you."

"I love you too." This – at least – is the truth.

* * *

**26**

"Thou Shalt Not… _Worship_ ," the word was punctuated by Arthur's mouth dragging up along Merlin's neck to his ear. "False…Idols." His lips teased his flesh as he whispered the end of the commandment.

Shivers shot up Merlin's back and he found himself rooted to the spot. 

"That's…" he felt his throat dry up around his half-hearted complaint.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Arthur's smirk. "Oh, were you wanting the full decree?" his fingers traced over Merlin's Adam's apple. "I am the LORD your God," Merlin's body was pressed against the stone wall behind him, "who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage." The heat of Arthur's hands burned through his robes against his hips. "You shall have no other gods before Me."

Arthur's face was far too close to his own and Merlin could feel his breath against his skin. He had no idea what made him turn his head just slightly, but that was all that was needed to stop Arthur's recital of the First Commandment. 

The kiss was one of desperation, leaving Merlin overwhelmed by the desire Arthur plundered him with.

He had always harbored doubt to Arthur's devotion; the man had always been one to ultimately follow his stubborn head rather than his cleansed heart, even when they had been young choirboys.

But to feel Arthur's manhood pressing so insistently against his thigh, to taste his tongue, to hear the his small moans, to realize just how far Arthur had been led astray…

…And it was because of him.

Guilt washed through Merlin and he tried to twist away. 

" _Don't_ ," Arthur hissed. His hands clenched into fists as they came to rest against the wall on either side of Merlin's head. "I've seen the way you look at me. It's all I've had to comfort me with this, and I can't…I wasn't raised within the church like you were and can't just ignore what I feel the way you can. 

"I've done all I can to lead a righteous life while surrounded by my father's riches and comforts. Let me have this one sin." Arthur's eyes rose to meet Merlin's own. "Please."

Merlin was fairly certain several sins were being committed here, but had a feeling that was not something Arthur wanted to hear. 

He looked away towards the giant cross that hung from the vaulted ceiling. He knew he should deny Arthur. Direct him to the confessional where he could beg for forgiveness and seek advice on how to be rid of such feelings.

But Merlin also knew if he did such a thing, he would need to be next in line for the small booth. Because everything he did, he did for Arthur. Every decision he made, every emotion he felt, was always with Arthur on his mind. He had been placed on this earth _for_ Arthur. It was a simple fact of their life, one that even the bishop of the church often stated whenever he discovered Arthur had come to seek Merlin's council.

And just like he had when they were boys, Merlin found himself giving in to Arthur's demand. 

Because who was he to deny the one thing he had ever considered putting before God?

* * *

**27**

Merlin blinks awake to the sound of Arthur dry heaving over the chamber pot. 

They're quiet, muffled sounds, as though Arthur's trying to stifle them entirely. It takes more willpower than he'd like to stay where he is – to give Arthur the space he needs to be vulnerable. 

Merlin sits up when he hears Arthur's soft footsteps crossing the room. It's too dark too see, but the bed dips as he crawls back into bed. When he settles, Merlin reaches out to run his knuckles down the knobs of his bare spine. Arthur shivers. 

There's a lull of silence, and then moans of pain filter in through the window that overlooks the town square. Arthur flips onto his back, hands coming up to cover his ears.

"God, make it stop. Please make it stop."

Merlin shuffles out of bed and towards the open window. He can't make out the post, but Merlin can make out the silhouettes of the guards around it; can make out the figure tied to the cross, still alive hours after Arthur had ordered the execution.

He shuts the window and draws the curtains, drenching the room in silence.

Merlin doesn't settle beside Arthur again, instead crawls beneath the velvet duvet and over him, straddling his hips. Neither of them is dressed, and the skin-on-skin contact is charged with something hot and intense. 

Merlin grasps Arthur's wrists to pull them away from where they're still pressed over his ears. He rubs his thumbs over Arthur's pulse -- slow, delicate motions to ease the creases in Arthur's forehead.

"What have I done?" Arthur whispers into the empty space between them. He lets out a shuddery breath, and Merlin slides his fingers between Arthur's, guiding their hands to settle above his head. 

"Merlin."

Merlin shushes him, leans down to nuzzle Arthur's neck. "Let me take care of you."

Merlin feels out of his depth. He wants desperately to ease Arthur's anguish, but he doesn't know how – because Arthur will always carry on his shoulders burdens that aren't his own.

Instead, he tries what he knows, hopes that it'll be enough.

Merlin sucks along Arthur's jaw, stopping when they're face-to-face, mouths barely grazing one another. Arthur's lips part, moist breaths warming Merlin's own.

 

It's rare, for Merlin to have Arthur so pliant and willing beneath his hands. Merlin wishes the circumstances were different.

He licks a stripe along Arthur's bottom lip, leans forward to catch it between his teeth and suckle on it gently.

Arthur shifts then, and they both groan when their cocks brush against one another. Merlin had meant to take it slow, but he can't help rolling his hips again and again, until he feels Arthur harden against him.

"Wanna be inside you," Merlin breathes -- heavy and ragged -- into Arthur's mouth. "Will you let me?"

Arthur meets his eyes and nods, hips still thrusting upwards even as Merlin moves off of him.

"Turn over for me," Merlin says, and Arthur does. 

Merlin feels for the vial of oil beneath the pillow; there isn't quite enough, but Merlin pours out the last of it over his fingers and cock anyway.

The first press of his fingers draws a gasp from Arthur, has him pushing back even though the position doesn't grant him any leverage. What they lack in quantity, Merlin makes up for in quality. He takes his time stretching Arthur, pushing in and out until Arthur's writhing beneath him.

"Merlin," he pants. "Merlin, please."

It's the desperation in his voice that breaks Merlin. He plasters himself against Arthur's back, puts a hand between Arthur and the mattress to pull him up just as he pushes in. It's hot and wet and too much and not enough all at the same time. 

They gain a steady rhythm, and Merlin braces a hand just beside where Arthur's leaning on his forearms. He latches onto the juncture between Arthur's neck and shoulder, sucks until he's sure it'll bruise. 

"You did the right thing," he whispers, free hand sliding to Arthur's leaking cock. "You did the right thing."

He strokes Arthur's cock; the combination of pre-come and his oily fingers makes it quick and slick.

When Arthur comes, it's with a shudder and croaked sob that Merlin pretends not to hear. 

When Merlin comes, it's with the knowledge that, even though Arthur is now king, he is human first and foremost, and it'll often be Merlin's job to remind Arthur that that's okay.

* * *

**28**

"You can leave the cuffs on."

That got him a cheeky grin as Jethro discarded his t-shirt. "Kinky."

"You walk around in those things every bloody day and _I'm_ the kinky one?"   
Not that Arthur was complaining; the first he'd seen Jethro had been dressed from head to toe in black, with leather wrist-cuffs and very tight jeans. That alone had been almost enough to undo him. The sight of Jethro's lips wrapped around his dick later that night had been the end of him. 

"You are definitely the kinky one." Jethro grinned again and closed the gap between them. "You are always trying to be in control, you're far too comfortable giving orders."

Grasping hold of the wrist-cuffs in one hand, he had Jethro's body pinned to the bed in seconds. Arthur looked down at him and raised an eyebrow "Trying?" 

Jethro made a cursory attempt to get away, squirming under Arthur's grip but he was held firm and Jethro dropped back against the bed in faked submission. Ignoring Arthur's comment he went for a new tactic. "Are you going to make this worth my while or not?"

"Maybe I'll just make you wait here for a while," Arthur replied smugly. 

Jethro bucked his hips up towards Arthur but ended up falling short. He pouted but Arthur just laughed and enjoyed the view. Jethro wasn't his normal type but there was something about him that Arthur couldn't quite put his finger on. Almost like a feeling of familiarity in someone he'd only known a few weeks.

Maybe one day he would be able to explain it but for now he would just enjoy what he had beneath him. Finally caving, Arthur leaned down to capture Jethro's lips in his own. He used his free hand to stroke Jethro's dick through his jeans, grinning when he felt Jethro gasp against him.

Fighting with his own self control, Arthur released Jethro's wrists and tugged on his jeans. "Lose these, now."

Jethro didn't argue with him, wriggling out of his jeans and grabbing a condom from the side as Arthur quickly removed his own clothes and joined him back on the bed. 

Not letting Arthur get the upper hand this time, Jethro made short work of rolling the condom down Arthur's erection and straddling him. Arthur moaned at the sensation as he sunk deep into Jethro's warmth. 

Arthur groaned in frustration as Jethro didn't move. He pushed his hips up but Jethro wouldn't budge. "Maybe I'll just make you wait here for a while." He mocked.

"You wouldn't." Arthur challenged.

Jethro just leaned back with a grin. "Try me." 

Arthur reached out and took hold of Jethro's dick, slowly stroking his balls as Jethro started to squirm on top of him. It didn't take long until Jethro caved and started moving. Arthur kept up the stroking in time to Jethro's movements and felt a familiar warmth building up in his stomach. 

Jethro stifled a shout as he came, and watching it pushed Arthur over the edge as well. Jethro fell forward against Arthur's chest and they lay together in comfort. 

"Think I won that one," Arthur grinned.

Jethro huffed against his chest but made no effort to move. "You fight dirty." 

Looking at the mess of come that now covered both of them, Arthur couldn't really argue with him. But he didn't see anyone complaining about it.

* * *


	7. Group C (clean)

**29.**

"Fucking wanker!" Arthur pounced on Merlin, slammed him against the fridge. "You put icing sugar in my protein shake powder!" He grabbed Merlin's t-shirt and shook him, made his head bounce. "Didn't you?"

Merlin's smirk made Arthur's blood boil. He wanted– he wanted to–

Morgana tore him away. 

"Jesus Christ! Just behave, will you? We're all a family now. And you," she turned to Merlin, who'd hid behind Freya, "leave Arthur's stuff alone. Next time I might not be here to save you."

"We promised mum we'd help her and your dad at the village fête," Freya said. "Can we leave you two on your own?"

Arthur sneered. "Have fun playing happy families."

Morgana shook her head, but she grabbed her car keys and they left, muttering something about idiot little brothers. 

Merlin disappeared upstairs.

Arthur paced the room for twenty minutes, enough to make sure they weren't coming back, then hurried after him.

He found Merlin in bed with his laptop, probably coding or something. 

"Our parents used all the icing sugar to make adorable fairy cakes," he said as Arthur entered. "Still, good thinking. I'll need an excuse for the bruises."

Arthur itched to touch him again. "The bruises?"

"The ones you'll give me." 

Merlin removed his glasses, folded them, and left them and the laptop on the nightstand. 

Arthur took it as his cue. He lept on Merlin, using his greater strength to tag Merlin's shoulders and pin him down. 

"You want bruises?" he leaned in, so he could whisper the words in Merlin's ear with a snarl. "I'll give you bruises." He bit Merlin's earlobe, just enough to make Merlin whine, then went on, all the way down Merlin's neck.

They'd long since overstepped the boundaries for acceptable behaviour between step-brothers. 

They couldn't help themselves. It was just something between them: a build-up of energy that could only be released through sex. They weren't gay, that was the weirdest part. They were like straight lines intersecting: a disrupted criss-cross pattern that had become their lives.

"Do your friends know what a huge slut you are, Pendragon?" Merlin said, showing teeth. 

"Oh, shut up." Arthur gathered Merlin's arms, grabbed his wrists. He took them both in one hand. "Just shut up."

Merlin licked his lips. "Come on, skull fuck me." 

But Arthur needed more. He peeled off his shorts. Then, like a junkie desperate for a hit, he pushed down Merlin's pyjama bottoms. The sight of Merlin's cock made him moan.

He reached for the lube, and opened the cap with his teeth. He drizzled Merlin's shaft, fisted it a couple of times, then reached behind himself. 

He was still sore from fucking in the garden shed last night, but the frequency with which Merlin's dick found its way up his arse had made him permanently loose. He hadn't been able to just stick a finger up himself before, but now he could take two, no problem. 

He had to take them out to pull his top over his head. He liked being naked while Merlin wasn't; it made him feel good and slutty. 

He seated himself, took Merlin's cock all the way. 

"Shit." He closed his eyes. "Oh, fuck me, that's good."

Merlin began thrashing under him. He didn't stand a chance, but Arthur appreciated that he tried. Between his own movements and Merlin's, he was being given a fuck that left his cock dribbling from the prostate stimulation.

Only once he'd come did he allow Merlin to top. And then he just lay there, with Merlin's hands on his thighs – keeping him spread and open – and took it. He liked coming first, so he could have the humiliating thrill of being fucked through the ache-y phase when his body just wanted to be left alone. 

Merlin finished with a gasp; reluctant, as if someone was stealing the come from his cock. And then he fell on top of Arthur, struggling for air. 

After a few moments, Arthur reached for the inhaler on the nightstand. Merlin took it, sucked at it. Arthur held him as Merlin's breath returned to normal. He sort of wanted to kiss him, but that wasn't something they did.

"Hey," he said. "I'm having ice cream. You want some?"

Merlin nodded, tired. He rolled to a side and allowed Arthur to get out and get dressed.

Arthur stared at him for a few moments – at the black hair and white skin and that _mouth_ – and then he went downstairs; sticky, still leaking Merlin's jizz.

* * *

**30.**

_Doullens,_  
15.07.1916  
A new batch arrived today, straight from the trenches. At least a third won't make it. The rest we'll fix up and send back for the Germans to try again. One of mine is a Tommy lieutenant. No tags, no letters. His leg is a bloody mess and there's the beginning of infection. Jury's still out on that one. 

_17.07.1916  
The lieutenant is still delirious. Cleaned his wound with some rotgut, while Percy held him down. He's quite the handsome fellow once the blood and grime is gone. Would be a real shame. Hope he at least wakes long enough to give a name. Bloody hate it when they are unidentified._

_18.07.1916  
Night shifts are the worst. In the silence you can hear every rattling breath, the crying and that final gasp just before they go. Most men die at dawn, with the hope of a new day on the horizon. I'm sitting with my lieutenant again. I know I shouldn't pick favourites, but I keep thinking “This one. Please let this one survive.” _

_20.07.1916  
The fever finally broke. Merci a Dieu. His name is Arthur Pendragon._

_22.07.1916  
Stubborn prat! Does he think I sewed him back together just so that he can go and ruin all my work because he's too embarrassed to use a bedpan? Told him I had seen it all already. He blushed like a schoolboy. Highlight of my day. _

_25.07.1916  
Lieutenant Pendragon insists that he can walk. Never mind that I'm the medic. Contemplated shackling him to the bed, but then agreed on the condition that he uses a crutch and lets me help him. Ended up hopping around camp together, while he doubted my expertise and I insulted his intelligence. Obviously a match made in heaven. I want to bang his head against a hard surface. ~~Or kiss his stupid mouth raw.~~_

_01.08.1916  
Arthur's leg is healing well, so our walks get steadily longer. Today we went all the way down to the river. Shared a cigarette under the old willow tree, courtesy of an American who died this morning. Death is our steady companion, and I know there's nothing stupider than falling for someone who'll be back in the trenches by autumn. But he's here now, radiant and alive, and dear God, I can't help myself. _

_08.08.1916  
Arthur has started to strip down to his undershirt and braces in the heat. It's the sweetest torture I've ever had to submit to. I can't take my eyes from where he's lying next to me in the tall summer grass, like Apollo come to walk amongst the mortals. I want to lean closer and taste the sweat from his collarbone, discover the sensitive peaks of his nipples with my lips, and bury my face into the crease of his thigh. To part his legs and inhale the musky, male scent of him, to feel the weight of his length on my tongue. It's possible that I'm going insane._

_16.08.1916  
He kissed me. My god. I didn't let myself imagine– Hope is such a rare commodity these days, and I know there's only one way for this to end. Still, I will charge forward blindly, like a lamb to the slaughter, drunk on his kisses, soft and warm, and with a lingering trace of crisp green apples._

_23.08.1916  
I wish we could stay here forever, in this cocoon of peace and sunshine. A world without war, and instead filled with sun-warmed skin under my palms and slow, wet kisses. With tasting each other in all the forbidden places. Arthur's mouth on me, as he kneels between my legs, his blond head bowed as if in prayer. Making him come with my fingers inside him and my name on his lips._

_What if we had met before the world went mad? What if we could just go home?_

_31.08.1916  
Arthur's leg is better, the limp almost gone. Every morning I wonder if today will be the day I lose him, and it only makes me need him more. I want him to bury himself inside me until it hurts, until all I feel is him. I want to write myself into his skin with lips and teeth and fingers so that he'll carry me with him, always. _

_15.09.1916  
He told me he loved me when he came to say goodbye. He must have known for a while. I couldn't say it back. Damn this all to hell._

_16.09.1916  
But I do. God, I do. Please. Please be safe. Please come back to me._

* * *

**31.**

“They’ll be looking for two women,” Gwen says near midnight, as they cross into Texas, “one white and one colored.”

The next day she cuts Morgana’s hair in the restroom of a friendly service station in Wichita Falls. She helps bind her chest in a strip of cloth cut from Morgana’s old skirt, helps button up the crisp checkered shirt she bought in Dallas with her daddy’s stolen money. Dizzy and desperate and falling on her feet, Morgana still rouses to Gwen’s touch, tries to kiss her like James Dean with Natalie Wood on the movie screen.

“Not here,” Gwen says firmly. “Get me to California first.”

It doesn’t seem possible, not with Texas stretching harsh and endless in every direction. But others have ridden the highways across this continent before them – hundreds of thousands of their parents’ generation, and a steady stream of dreamers and misfits ever since. After he arrived in Los Angeles three years ago, Gwen’s brother sent her a list of hotels and restaurants that wouldn’t turn Negroes away. They didn’t have time to bring any such papers with them, and they’re too scared to stop anywhere yet, but Gwen knows the list by heart. Just as Morgana remembers Elena’s letter from San Francisco: “I never dreamed there could be so many girls like us in the world, let alone in one city.”

Morgana feels lighter as soon as they step outside. The desert wind steals the sweat from her bare neck. “If he’d sent the authorities after us, they would’ve stopped us by now,” she says.

Gwen grips the steering wheel and says nothing, but she’s breathing easier than before. 

They drive all day and into the night, and the state troopers never pull them over. They finally stop at a smart Negro-owned motel just across the state line into New Mexico. Gwen goes to take a shower and Morgana looks around the room: a double bed, a table and a mirror, a blanket on the wall with an Indian design. She could weep at the strangeness, the abundance, the anonymity. 

And then there’s her reflection. Close up she doesn’t look much like a man, but not what she’s ever thought a woman could be either. Whether or not it worked as a disguise, she’s certain she looks more like herself than she ever has.

When Gwen comes out naked and dripping Morgana forgets about herself and goes to her knees. “You’re so beautiful,” she breathes.

“I’m the same as before,” says Gwen, laughing and running her hand through Morgana’s cropped hair. Morgana doesn’t quite agree but she nods, thrilling at the coupled sensations of Gwen’s hand at the back of her neck, the warm wet skin of Gwen’s belly on her cheek, and Gwen’s pubic hair tickling her chin. She starts to press in with her mouth but Gwen stops her and says, “Not after two days without sleep. Come on.”

They kiss as they fall into bed. Gwen says, “I want your hand,” and Morgana gives it, uses the tip of her thumb to caress Gwen’s vulva while the knuckle presses against her clitoris. Gwen smiles and then whimpers and then pulls her into place, so soon Morgana’s rocking strong and steady against her, her fist held firm between them while the weight of her body gives them the pressure they need. She concentrates everything on drawing those little moans out of Gwen, matching her movements to the pleasure she can hear. There’s no joy like the sound of Gwen’s voice breaking with her release, nothing to make Morgana more proud.

Morgana holds Gwen close as her breathing subsides. Kisses her cheek and then quickly, quietly finishes herself off with her fingers. 

“You’re not the same as before,” she says at length. Because Gwen’s lovely and sweet and practical as ever, but she looks different in the sunny dry colors of Tucumcari than in the stifling white of Morgana’s room in Baton Rouge. Her own colors are deeper, truer, now she’s not the judge’s daughter’s maid – and never will be again – but just Gwen. 

And they’ll never have to worry about _what will we do if he walks in_ , because that’s already happened, and they’ve survived. Or at least they’re surviving.

“Get me to California,” Gwen murmurs, half asleep, and Morgana swears she will. Tomorrow they’ll leave this place behind and start again. They’ll drive their way out of the desert and dream a brand new life at the edge of the ocean.

* * *

**32.**

C is for Cherry

Arthur got whatever he wanted from Camelot’s longsuffering cook. With his handsome face and chivalrous ways, he could charm the cook out of any exotic fruit or fresh vegetable that arrived to her larder. He was the first to taste many delicacies, sometimes long before the rest of the castle even knew such treasures existed. And so it surprised no one when Arthur trotted up the stairs to his bedchamber with Merlin close behind him and a sack of fresh cherries in his grasp.

Not fifteen minutes later, Arthur had Merlin naked and trussed on the bed. The soft cords that had once held back the bed-curtains were slipped behind Merlin’s knees to hold his thighs spread wide. His cock had already hardened so much that it now lay flat against Merlin’s belly.

Arthur stood with his hands on his hips, admiring the sight of all that pale flesh and quivering muscle.

Merlin’s arse waited for Arthur’s attention.

“Lie still now,” Arthur said, falling into the space between Merlin’s legs. His hot breath tickled Merlin’s bare thighs as he squirmed on the bed.

Arthur’s fingers lightly brushed the few sprigs of hair that grew from Merlin’s balls. He murmured as he traced the long line of Merlin’s cock, until he reached the droplets of anticipation that seeped from its slit.

“Arthur,” Merlin panted breathlessly. “Get on with it, prat.”

Arthur petted Merlin’s belly and reached for the sack, pulling out a ripe cherry by its stem.

“So impatient,” Arthur whispered.

He could only imagine the sensation caused by the plump cherry that he traced over Merlin’s hole. Biting down on his tongue, Arthur watched the impossibly tiny furl as it twitched with every sweep of the fruit against it. 

“Oh, right there,” Merlin said, moaning at the slide of the cool fruit against his most intimate flesh.

Arthur pressed his fingertip on the cherry and watched as Merlin’s hole stretched to accept it.

Merlin jerked at the intrusion, his hands fisting the sheets, but Arthur didn’t make Merlin strain for long against the firm fruit. He gave the cherry a little push until it slipped inside, its stem poking out like a tiny flagpole in search of a banner.

Arthur smiled and lowered his mouth to Merlin’s hole.

Merlin whimpered as Arthur let his tongue dance along the rim. Each lick of his tongue made Merlin sob louder.

When he grew tired of teasing, Arthur grasped the cherry stem between his teeth and tugged gently until it exited with a plop. With one hand splayed wide on Merlin’s quaking inner thigh, Arthur bit the cherry in half, spitting the pit onto the floor for Merlin to take care of later. Taking the cherry half between two fingers, Arthur traced Merlin’s rim with the moist fruit, leaving a trail of painted juice around his hole.

“So pretty,” Arthur said, sitting back on his heels to admire his work.

Merlin let out a shuddering sigh.

“Just like a lady of the court,” Arthur said, leaning over to kiss Merlin, plunging his tongue into his sweetened hole, seeking the hidden place inside Merlin that made his sobs turn into unrestrained moans of pleasure.

Bracing himself with both Merlin’s thighs hoisted into the crook of his arms, Arthur licked and burrowed into Merlin’s arse, the most luscious feast he had ever enjoyed in all of Albion.

Merlin bore down, seeking more of Arthur’s tongue and lips.

Arthur managed to get a fist around Merlin’s cock. He could feel Merlin thrashing his head back and forth in utter bliss. After a few more deep plunges of Arthur’s tongue, Merlin’s body seized beneath Arthur’s hands. Merlin’s cock spurted his milky come onto his belly, the bedding, and Arthur’s fingers.

Arthur released Merlin from the cords that held him. Stretching out beside Merlin, Arthur pulled him into an embrace. 

When Merlin’s trembling stopped, Arthur reached over and dug through the cabinet at his bedside. Finding what he sought, he touched the tip of his inked quill to the parchment.

Beneath the _carrot_ and _celery_ which had already been crossed out, Arthur crossed _cherries_ off their list with a flourish.

He couldn’t help but grin with anticipation when he saw that, for their next play time, there would be _cucumber_.

* * *

**33.**

This was not what Arthur had been expecting when he had snapped at Merlin to make him a new coat, to make up for the one he had ruined by spilling Arthur’s lunch on it, and then promptly setting it on fire while trying to fix the stain. Then, Arthur had spent the next few minutes yelling at Merlin, at the end of which, Merlin had made that ridiculous face he made when performing any kind of magical spell, and Arthur had felt soft fabric materialize out of thin air and drape over his body.

The problem with the whole thing was that, the coat that Arthur was expecting wasn’t a coat at all. It was a dress. It was red dress with patterns of gold on it. The sleeves were made of the same flimsy fabric that Morgana’s dress sleeves sometimes had. Arthur was wearing a dress. 

Arthur stared down at himself for a few seconds, and then looked back up at Merlin.

Merlin was watching him with wide eyes, his mouth slightly parted, and his eyes were trailing over Arthur’s body. Arthur shifted a bit uncomfortably, and watched as the startled expression on Merlin’s face slid into—something else. Pink spots appeared high on Merlin’s cheeks, and his breath came out rougher, his pupils blown.

Arthur swallowed, and then cleared his throat.

Merlin jerked, the blush darkening on his face, and finally looked up and caught Arthur’s gaze.

“At least the colour is right,” he said shakily, his voice deeper than usual, a bit huskier. Arthur would have said something snappy in response to that annoying statement if not for the fact that Merlin was looking at him like—that. Like he wanted to tear off this dress from Arthur’s body and—and ravage him.

Arthur didn’t necessarily object to the tearing part. Or the ravaging part. Not at all. He felt his insides tighten, and his cock twitched. He was just about to say something (because Merlin had gone back to looking Arthur up and down and was making no move to strip this hideous piece of clothing off of him) when Merlin looked up at him through his eyelashes. And oh gods. He looked absolutely lickable like that.

And then, Merlin said “Sire,” in that deep voice, and Arthur almost felt his knees go weak. But, he was the Crown Prince of Camelot, and crown princes don’t get week knees over their ridiculous manservants. So Arthur just cleared his throat authoritatively and took one step back and sat down on his bed. The dress was tight, and he couldn’t spread his legs quite the way he wanted to, but the problem was swiftly taken care of when Merlin’s eyes flared gold and the dress tore in half from below the waist, revealing Arthur’s cock, which at this point was hard and begging for attention.

Merlin didn’t waste time in dropping to his knees in front of Arthur and sliding between Arthur’s legs. He took the head of Arthur’s cock in his mouth and gave it a firm suck. Arthur choked and threw his head back, closing his eyes and letting Merlin do whatever he pleased with him, focusing solely on the wet heat of Merlin’s mouth around his cock.

Well, he thought as Merlin made a humming sound that nearly made him scream, there were a few advantages to failed magical spells, after all.

* * *

**34.**

Arthur pauses at the door, scuffing the toes of his boots on the stoop. But no- he made his decision. Squaring his shoulders, he knocks.

Merlin doesn't smile when he answers, only nods hello at Arthur's grimace.

Arthur follows him down the hall, toeing off his shoes as he goes and stopping in the doorway to watch Merlin slip back into the blanket nest on the couch.

He looks comfortable there, TV remote within easy reach.

Merlin reaches out and clicks off the TV. "Well?"

Arthur shrugs off his jacket, unknots his tie, dropping it to the floor as he pads over. Merlin leans back as Arthur towers above him, until he's at just the right angle for a kiss, Arthur's knee jammed into the cushions, Merlin's neck a needy arch under him. Merlin's pliable against his hands, limbs stretching out as Arthur covers him with his body.

There's a question in Merlin's eyes when they break apart, but Arthur bites at his neck instead, sucking lightly to ease the sting as he works his way under the loose collar of Merlin's t-shirt.

Merlin makes a little noise when Arthur licks over his collarbone, and his hands fly reflexively to Arthur's hips, fingertips digging into the muscles of his ass. 

Arthur's lips are tingling. Merlin's eyes are so, so dark. 

Arthur sits up, making Merlin's breath suck in and his eyelids flutter at the brief pressure on his cock.

Arthur's breathing is shallow as he unbuttons his cuffs, then his collar, working his way down the buttons one by one. Merlin watches him, eyes moving in little flicks as his chest heaves up and down.

The shirt gets dropped on the floor, Arthur's undershirt soon following. His belt clicks loudly as he shoves down his trousers.

Merlin stops him, fingers cool on Arthur's wrist as he wriggles out of his pajama pants, cock flush against his stomach.

Arthur has to kiss him, not on his bitten lips this time, but the pale skin just above his hip, soft and vulnerable so that Merlin cries out underneath him, shirt riding up above his belly button.

Fingernails scrabble at his neck, pulling the short hairs there before soothing him as Arthur changes course to lay delicate licks to the head of Merlin's cock.

Merlin pushes him back though, searching for something, before producing a bottle of lube and a condom from behind a pillow.

Arthur licks his lips, but his hands don't shake as he takes them. He doesn't have to narrow his eyes, Merlin's already nodding, pushing his pants the rest of the way off his thighs.

Merlin's tight, is the thing. Arthur can feel the strain in his thighs as he kisses them, shushing when Merlin can't help but make a noise. Arthur has to nuzzle into his hipbone as he works a third finger in, Merlin's eyes locked with his, pupils blown.

Merlin's shaking when Arthur finally pushes in. Maybe both of them are. But Merlin only clutches tighter when Arthur hesitates, pulling closer, his hands restless on Arthur's ass. Arthur doesn't ask if he's okay. Merlin is one long line of tension below him, head thrown back, hips hitching downward as Arthur works his way in.

Arthur gives him a minute, though Merlin clearly doesn't want one, knees tightening around Arthur's waist, eyes fierce now that he's finally opened them. 

The first time Arthur pulls back and thrusts in, Merlin groans. The second time, Arthur doesn't hold back. Merlin arches into it, gasping, and Arthur shifts his hips, satisfied when it draws out a whine.

Arthur has to kiss him as he does it again and again, Merlin's mouth lush and wet. Arthur props himself up to reach down and tug at Merlin's cock, making his lips go clumsy. 

Merlin cries out when he comes, hips jerking as Arthur milks his cock dry, ass clenching down on Arthur's cock. Arthur buries his face in Merlin's neck as he comes, hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. He has to wait to lift his head and deal with the condom.

Merlin hands him a tissue, after, but Arthur kisses him instead, smoothing over his cheek with a thumb.

"I can't," he whispers, before he pulls away and picks up his shirt.

"I know," Merlin says. He watches, silent as Arthur buttons his cuffs. He doesn't say goodbye. Arthur doesn't look back.

He pauses in the entry, drops his key in the little bowl on the sidetable, then leaves.

* * *

**35.**

It is a well known fact within the kingdom of Camelot that Merlin is Arthur’s favoured concubine.

“They say that I’ve been enchanted by you,” Arthur groans, eyes barely opened as he lays on the bed, Merlin bouncing on his cock. “Gods,” he groans, head thrown back, mouth parted as he tightens his grip on Merlin’s hips, no doubt leaving bruises. “ _Merlin._ ”

“That’s—” Merlin pants out, swivelling his hips in a way that has Arthur cursing out his pleasure, “Entirely your fault.” It makes Merlin smile with the knowledge that he’s the cause of Arthur being in such a state, mindless with lust and free of the royal responsibilities that normally burdens him. Merlin laughs, breathless as he pulls up until only the tip of Arthur’s cock is within him before sinking down again. He’ll never tire of this, the sensation of being stuffed full of Arthur’s royal prick. He takes one of Arthur’s hands, brings it up to lips to kiss the calloused fingers, sucks on them with a loud moan. 

Arthur eyes glint mischievously. “Is that so?” 

It is _entirely_ Arthur’s fault. It’s almost shameless how blatantly he favours Merlin. It’s something that both exasperates and endears Merlin. Arthur’s never been like this _before_ Merlin, so it’s natural for the court to speculate about King’s open affections towards his concubine.

Merlin’s thrown onto his back in a matter of seconds, Arthur’s body caging his own, gripping his wrists above his head. Merlin whimpers, trapped and feeling so _desperately_ empty now that Arthur’s no longer inside him.

After a moment of silence, Arthur shrugs.“I suppose that’s true…” Panting, he nuzzles at Merlin’s neck, nipping and licking a trail until he reaches the ruby-studded crucifix resting upon Merlin’s sternum. It is a heavy ornament, intricate and detailed, warmed by Merlin's heat. It’s the one thing Merlin always wears; proof of his King's favour, showing anyone who sets their eyes upon it that Merlin is Arthur’s most precious possession, protected by royal decree, and those who dare harm him in any way face the wrath of the King.

Arthur kisses it, tenderly as he would any other part of Merlin. 

Merlin knows better than to beg, no matter how much his own cock aches, needing to be touched. Arthur may be King, but he’s still a prat first and foremost. Begging only leads to Arthur teasing him more, so all Merlin can do is take and accept whatever Arthur deems to give him. 

“Yes!” Merlin cries out, writhing on the bed, spreading his legs slut-wide, hoping that it’ll be enough to entice Arthur to fuck him proper.

It is. 

They groan in unison when Arthur presses his cock in, bottoming out. The pleasant stretch burns, the weight of cock against his sweet spot is almost enough to have Merlin orgasming. 

Instinctively, Merlin’s body clenches around the welcome intrusion. Arms still trapped, he wraps his legs around Arthur’s hips, trying to pull him closer, trying to make him _move_.

They fuck with abandon, moving and rutting against each other with a carnal mindlessness. The only thing that comes out of Arthur’s mouth are soft grunts and heavy panting, only silenced when he takes a breadth of a moment to nip on Merlin’s ears, his lip, his neck. 

 

Grunting with the effort, Merlin bucks his hips upwards, greedy for more. The feeling of his cock against Arthur’s skin, of being filled, of having his sweet spot rubbed against over and over again sends Merlin over the brink and he comes with a voiceless scream, shooting his load over his own belly. 

Arthur freezes. “M-Merlin,” he utters with a shudder, as Merlin’s muscles ripple around his cock, miking him. He comes then, spills deep inside Merlin with a groan.

They share sloppy, lazy kisses as Arthur continues to fuck into Merlin until it becomes too much. He pulls away, cock over-sensitised. It’s only when Arthur is spent in every sense of the word that he lets go of his grip on Merlin’s wrists, cuddles and holds him close like a beloved cushion. 

Arthur is King, he carries the weight of his people and kingdom upon his shoulders. That is his cross to bear, but Merlin will be damned if he doesn’t bully Arthur into sharing the burden.

* * *

**36.**

The king and queen had withdrawn to their private chamber for the evening. 

Arthur sprawled in front of the fire, the laces of his shirt undone. Gwen had changed out of her royal gown into a simple night-robe. 

Merlin turned to leave. “If there's nothing else, I'll be going. Good night.”

Gwen's discarded dress was draped over a chair near the door. Merlin couldn't help sliding his palm over the luxurious fabric as he walked by. The silk was the bright color of cornflowers. 

“Merlin, please wait.” Gwen reached out, touching his arm. “You like my dress, don't you? Would you like to try it on?”

“What? Oh no, not this again!” Merlin shook his head vigorously. “I do _not_ want to wear dresses!” 

Arthur's eyes glinted in the firelight. “We don't believe you.”

Gwen nodded. “You don't have to hide from us, Merlin.”

Merlin swallowed. He looked away, hesitating. “Maybe, just once...”

"Do it," Arthur urged him. "You'll look good."

Merlin blinked. 

Gwen's voice was kind. “Changing behind the screen may make it easier.” 

She gave his arm a fond little squeeze before opening her closet. “You need a shift and petticoat too, of course. These will do.” 

In a daze, Merlin accepted the delicate garments and stumbled behind the screen. He could hardly breathe. 

He undressed in a hurry. For a moment he stood naked, shivering with emotion. 

The shift slid down his body like the caress of a loving hand. The petticoat frothed like sea foam. 

When he re-emerged, shy and embarrassed, Gwen calmly helped him put the gown on. She did up the laces, pulled the bodice tight and adjusted the skirt. 

The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. Merlin kept his eyes lowered. 

Gwen ruffled his hair a little, arranging the locks. She eyed him with appreciation. Placing her hands on his hips, she turned him toward the mirror. “Look!”

Amazed, Merlin studied his own reflection. The gown shimmered. The skirt was too short and the bodice somewhat ill-fitting, but the illusion did not shatter. His features looked soft and sensual, his waist tiny. His wide eyes were very blue. He was beautiful! 

Suddenly he felt weightless with joy. Experimentally, he pulled his rich skirts wide, curtsying deeply. “Sire. My queen.”

“It's like magic,” Gwen whispered. “You're transformed!”

Arthur looked stunned. 

Gwen's hands returned to Merlin's waist, her every breath ghosting across his exposed shoulders. Arthur got up to join her, standing very close. A look passed between them.

Gwen's hands traveled upwards, tugging at Merlin's bodice, exposing his nipples. Her long hair tickled his skin.

Merlin gasped. “Gwen?”

“Do you want us to stop?”

Merlin gazed into the mirror. The three of them stood together as one. This was right. He finally dared face his most cherished desire. “No, I don't. I... have wanted this for a long time.”

“So have we,” Arthur said. 

Gwen smiled. She kissed Merlin's shoulder, her warm lips lingering on Merlin's skin even as Arthur leaned in for a nibble of his own. 

Overcome with lust and longing, Merlin threw his head back and closed his eyes. He gave himself over to his king and queen - his friends, soon to be his lovers. 

Gwen caressed his chest, grazing his peaked nipples. Merlin shuddered.

“You're perfect. So pretty,” Arthur whispered. There was no mockery in his voice, only breathless affection. Standing behind Merlin, he started pulling the blue skirt and the layers of lace up and out of the way. 

When nothing but the flimsy shift covered Merlin from the hips down, Arthur gathered up a section of it and wrapped the cool silk around Merlin's erection. The softness of the fabric and Arthur's strong grip were intensely arousing.

Merlin inhaled sharply. “Oh!”

“Feels good, doesn't it?” Gwen breathed.

Once more, Merlin looked into the mirror. His gown was admitting defeat, the bodice riding low and the skirt bunched around his restless hips. He looked wanton, with flushed skin, parted lips, and heaving chest. Arthur and Gwen were holding him, kissing him, touching him, stopping at nothing to give him pleasure. Never had Merlin imagined himself as the center of such blissful debauchery. 

Arthur's hand worked Merlin's silk-sheated cock with firm, demanding pulls. Gwen pinched his nipples. 

“Y-yes!” Merlin tensed, whimpered, and came.

“Next time, you'll serve us our dinner first,” Arthur panted into his ear. “And wear nothing but Gwen's corset all evening.”

* * *

**37.**

Leon had sat at the edge of the bed and bent over the Templar’s leg to take a better look. According to the ones who had dragged him in, the arrow had pierced the leather and chainmail but Cenred’s sheer dumb luck had let it not too deep into the flesh itself. An almost ordinary wound, if it weren’t for the poison.

Lowering his head between Cenred’s knees, Leon had to suppress his need to shake his head. The situation was not entirely foreign to him. He couldn’t believe he actually had _a reason_ this time, to be in the same position. He took one more swig of alcohol to cleanse his mouth, and looked at Cenred. The Templar looked like an illustration from one of those indecent “manuals” to “relief”: lying on his back, breeches torn and cast away, hands on his knees to keep them wide apart.

Leon lowered himself on his elbow and took Cenred’s thigh in his hands to steady it. One last breath and ignoring the Templar’s whimper, he pressed his lips around the wound and sucked in. Hot, pungent blood ran over his tongue and filled his mouth. Somewhere above him Cenred tensed and let out a tattered breath. The muscles of his wounded thigh hardened and shuddered. Leon tried to ignore him and concentrate on saving his life. He spat the tainted blood into the bowl he had prepared, once, twice to clean his own mouth from any lingering poison, and pressed his lips to the task once again. Cenred tried to twist away; something at the edge of Leon’s vision moved and he shifted his gaze just in time to see the Templar’s soft, round derrière clench.

“Sir Leon…” Cenred moaned and clenched again, forcing Leon to shuffle his limbs and put a hand on his patient’s hip to keep him still. When Cenred obeyed, Leon eased the pressure and caressed the bare skin to reward him.

It worked like magic. Cenred went perfectly still. “Don’t stop,” he ordered, voice carrying some semblance of his usual authoritative self, yet also saturated with something else, something that made the hairs on Leon’s neck and forearms stand on edge. He indulged his patient and ran his palm over Cenred’s abdomen, the coarseness of the hairs merging into one whole thing beneath Leon’s fingertips. Cenred growled and swore, but kept his pelvis and legs still.

Leon was almost done. He finished dressing the wound and withdrew from Cenred, pushing himself onto his knees. In front of him, the Templar was flushed and panting, mouth open and eyes screwed shut, neck bared and cock generously oozing at the foot of the red Templar cross.

“Sir Cenred…”

“Please… sir Leon. For the pain,” Cenred pleaded.

Leon bit his lip, the metallic taste of blood still faintly lingering in his mouth. He _could_ deny the Templar. The man’s had worse wounds before and wore them without complaint. But Leon could also comply with the request and well, the mighty sir Cenred begging like that, it wasn’t too bad.

He reached out and wrapped his fingers around Cenred’s shaft. Cenred let out an unintelligible noise, a plea for more, a promise for quickness, and sure enough, one stroke from Leon’s grip tipped him over the edge. His spine arched and a curse escaped his lips, its ends tattered by his uneven exhale. His cock throbbed in Leon’s hand, spurting white milky liquid all over the Templar cross. Cenred exhaled and inhaled again, his breath dying in his chest for a long moment before going out as another low moan. The edges of his mouth trembled and went up in a smile of satisfaction and suddenly Leon was reminded why exactly he had granted Cenred’s request, why he had been so easily seduced by the man back in Acre. He squeezed and stroked, and watched Cenred shiver under his touch. The latter shuddered, sure enough, but kept his legs and pelvis as still as possible.

Leon gave him a last, hard squeeze. “You’re supposed to be an example of purity, and yet you’re dragging me in Hell with you,” he muttered, faking offence.

Cenred laughed and cracked an eye open, looking at Leon. “You’re the one holding onto my cock for dear life, sir.”

* * *

**38.**

Nothing compared to the thrill of the hunt. 

Merlin could hear his prey’s blood pulsing strongly with fear and desperation. It would taste so much sweeter for it. Merlin could kill in an instant, but he liked the chase. This one had headed for a church, was struggling with the door…

Merlin moved, instantly at the man’s side. He saw blue eyes widen in fear at the show of power, but the self-preservation instinct was strong and the man put his shoulder to the door, still trying to escape. There was no chance. Merlin’s eyes glowed momentarily, and the door fell inwards.

The man scrambled inside. “Sanctuary,” Merlin heard him gasp as he ran. “I claim sanctuary.”

Like that was going to stop Merlin. Merlin, alone among his kind, had magic.

He could see the horror in the man’s eyes as he approached. Beautiful, tempting. He would enjoy taking this one. 

“What are you?” the man gasped. He was at the altar, a huge ornate cross hanging over it.

“Your destiny,” Merlin replied, baring his fangs.

Recoiling, the man snatched up a small crucifix and held it out. Merlin could see his hand trembling.

“Those give a real buzz,” Merlin told him, gazing into his eyes, mesmerising him.

That was boring. He wanted a struggle.

“Look away.”

The man gasped as he did so, shaking his head to clear it.

“Your eyes…What did you do to me?”

Merlin didn’t know. He’d had no guidance because he’d killed his sire, though now he couldn’t remember why. There had been anger, rage, and then he’d felt nothing. Not until this blond human with his hot, pounding blood that Merlin _had_ to taste.

Merlin leaned in, close, breathing in the man’s scent. His sweat, his fear, they were intoxicating.

“Please…” the man tried to back away, still holding the crucifix. 

Merlin _reached_ for him, pulling him onto the cold stone floor. A wave of his hand, and their clothes were gone. The prey gasped, then tried to cover himself. He was truly beautiful.

Merlin had never felt desire like this before, not in all his years. Three hundred years, it was… perhaps more. He couldn’t even remember what his life was before. 

“Oh no,” Merlin breathed. “Let me look at you, sweet thing.” And he used his magic again, forcing the man’s hands away, spreading his arms wide as if he were crucified upon that cross overshadowing them.

“Arthur,” the man gasped. “I’m Arthur.”

As if giving his name would save him. There was something familiar about him, but Merlin couldn’t place it. This Arthur made him need and want like no other. Merlin was hard already, just from the sight of the golden creature beneath him, warm and vital.

“You’re mine,” Merlin purred. He pushed Arthur’s legs apart, kneeling between them as if he were preparing to pray. Appropriate, given their setting. And he’d worship this beautiful creature, briefly. So fragile. So very delicious.

Arthur was struggling now, terrified, fighting against the magic that bound him. 

Slowly Merlin raised Arthur’s hips, his magic reaching in, stretching him, preparing him… 

“Please don’t…” Arthur gasped, but Merlin could hear the hitch in his breath and see his cock stirring in its nest of blond curls. Arthur wanted this too. “Please…”

“You don’t have to beg,” Merlin whispered as he pushed inside and started to thrust, hard and fast. Arthur was tight and hot around him and moaned like a whore with every flex of Merlin’s hips, his leaking cock erect against Merlin’s stomach. Arthur was completely Merlin’s, would do whatever he wanted.

“Come for me,” Merlin whispered, leaning oh so close to the tantalising vein throbbing in Arthur’s neck. Soon, so soon, it would be his. Arthur jerked and spasmed beneath him, coming with a cry. The crucifix slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor unnoticed.

It sent Merlin over the edge, finally biting down and tasting the hot, sweet blood he craved as he pulsed deep inside Arthur.

“Oh.”

Arthur lay back, trembling. There was semen on his stomach, blood trickling down his throat.

“Merlin,” he gasped. “What happened to you?”

And suddenly Merlin’s memories started to return. All of them, overwhelming him. It was too much. 

He wanted that sweet blood again, wanted all of Arthur, every last part of him. If he drank deep enough it would stop. Everything would stop.

He lowered his head, his fangs extended, and pressed his mouth to Arthur’s warm flesh for the last time.

* * *

**39.**

Arthur did not want to go to church. At all. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off the oncoming headache and sighed. He always acted like this when he had a crush. He just hated feeling vulnerable and would avoid the person who had captured his attention like the plague. It had started with a physical attraction, but then Father Emrys had to go and be a giant goofy nerd on top of being cute. Arthur had felt himself starting to get childishly upset and frustrated and knew that he had formed a crush on a _bloody priest._

“Call me Merlin!” He had said when they first met, shaking Arthur’s hand with enthusiasm. Arthur hated him. He knew it was irrational but he didn’t really care because he was frustrated, dammit. 

He decided it was best to get this over with and went into the church and straight to the confessional, no Merlin in sight.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.” Arthur waited for the usual reply from Father Hart. 

“What sins have you come to confess today?” Arthur stopped for a second at the young voice that answered him. He nearly groaned in frustration. _Of course_ Merlin would be running confession today.

“I-I’m sorry Father. I must go. I will come back later this week for confession—“ Arthur started to get up. There’s no way he could possibly share his feelings with Merlin right now. 

“No! Please Arthur, I-I mean ahh,” Merlin stammered. “Look. I know I’m young but please, let me guide you. I worked hard for this priesthood, you know.” 

Arthur could almost picture Merlin’s cheeks getting red and his mouth setting in determination. He knew the man was stubborn; it was one of the traits he liked about him. 

“I do not doubt your abilities, Merlin. I’m, um, just used to Father Hart, is all.” He sat back down.

“What brings you here today, Arthur?” Arthur sighed and closed his eyes. At least his feelings would be out there, he supposed. 

“Well, Father, I am here to confess that there is one particular male that has been…plaguing my thoughts as of late.” Arthur waited for a response. Father Emrys remained silent so he continued.

“Not only am I ridden with guilt over my unfortunate taste in men, I am also dealing with the fact that the man I am infatuated with is a priest.” Arthur rested his head back on the wall. Merlin would know it was him that Arthur was referring to. There was only two priests at the church and Father Hart was roughly 30 years his senior. There was a long silence from Merlin’s side of the screen.

“What thoughts do you have about him? Letting go of all of your sins might help you get over this…infatuation.” Arthur let out a laugh at that.

“Well, I think he’s beautiful,” he smiled, picturing the blush on Merlin’s face.

“He is the star of many of my fantasies. His lips alone are enough to make me want to sin,” he paused, heart racing, waiting to make sure that this is what Merlin wanted. All he heard from the screen was soft pants. He knew Merlin’s pulse must’ve matched his own.

“Gosh, I want to touch him so badly.” Arthur’s face was hot and he could feel himself getting hard. He tugged at his zipper. Merlin wouldn’t be able to see him anyways. 

“I like to picture what it would be like to seduce him. I think I’d start with kissing his lips until they were red and raw. Then, once he begged me for it, I’d finally touch his cock. I’d only stroke it for a little while, though. I wouldn’t want him to come from that just yet.” Arthur was fully stroking himself off now. He could hear slight moans from Merlin and was getting hot all over at the sound.

“Do you think he’d like that, Father? Do you think he’d like me to stroke his cock?” Arthur moved his hand quickly up and down his shaft, pre-come making it completely wet and slick. 

“A-Arthur,” Merlin breathed. There was no denying what he was doing. It drove Arthur crazy thinking of Merlin jacking himself off just a few feet away.

“What I think I’d like best, is for him to ride me. I want to see my cock disappearing inside of him. I’m sure that’s a sin in its own right. I just think he’d fuck me so hard, I can barely stand the thought going without him.” Arthur thrust into his hand as he came, trying not to release any loud groans. He leaned back to catch his breath and wiped the cum off on his boxers to be dealt with later. He heard the even breaths on the other side confirm that Merlin came too.

“So…same time next week, Father?” He heard a giggle and smiled. He could live with this.

* * *

**40.**

~~_4\. Drive to the ocean at least twice._ ~~

Elena shrieks with laughter when Vivian splashes her. Viv's the kind of girl everyone thinks would just sit on the beach with her sunglasses on, but they don't know her like Elena does. She's vicious when provoked, and right now she's provoked.

“Not fair, you sneak!” Elena slips on a rock and goes under, which is her own fault, and ends up propped up on her elbows in the shallows with Vivian staring down at her, one eyebrow raised. “You're a shark, that's what you are.”

“I am a _mermaid_ ,” says Vivian, with great dignity, and pulls Elena to her feet and out to the deeper water.

~~_7\. Figure out that thing Viv does with her tongue._ ~~

It's too hot to be wearing shirts. That's Elena's argument, anyway, and Vivian is easily hushed when she points out that sex will only get them sweatier.

They've been doing this for months and not mentioning it, ever since they both ill-advisedly dated Arthur Pendragon in rapid succession, and maybe they should talk about it. Elena doesn't really want to. Talking about things makes them real, and real things are probably going to end in a month when they head off to different schools.

She unzips Vivian's shorts instead and kisses her way down.

“Hold on, I've been figuring this out for ages,” she says, and puts her mouth between Vivian's legs.

Vivian, pushy as ever, wraps her legs around Elena's head, but Elena really doesn't mind that. She hears boys make comments sometimes, that girls taste bad (as if any of them has done it as much as Elena or Vivian have), but she's never really thought so. Just salty and musky and strange.

Elena isn't as good with her mouth as Vivian is (Vivian's always had the clever tongue, after all), but she's been working at it, and today she's rewarded by Vivian's gasps and the clench of her muscles when Elena does her best to reproduce what Vivian did the first time she went down on Elena and Elena actually squirted.

Vivian doesn't squirt, but she does come against Elena's tongue with a sharp noise Elena can hear even through the cushion of Vivian's legs next to her ears, and Elena looks up at her and beams. “What do you think, almost as good as your secret tongue thing?”

“Acceptable technique,” says Vivian with a sniff, and then holds out her hands impatiently, expecting Elena to come to her.

Elena goes, of course. That's how it works.

Vivian gives Elena her thigh to ride and Elena comes gasping into her mouth before she collapses.

“Ugh, get off, you're sweaty,” says Vivian after what's probably exactly five minutes, but she keeps her hand wrapped around Elena's wrist so she doesn't go far.

~~_11\. Visit campus at least once so I don't get lost._ ~~

“I still can't believe you're leaving me.”

Elena, squinting at her campus map upside down, looks over at Vivian, who's been in a mood for the whole trip. She's got her arms crossed and she's looking around with a frown on. Elena tries on a smile. “And whose idea was it for you to go to _Scotland_ instead of here?”

Vivian frowns some more and takes the map from Elena, turning it the right way around. “You're terrible at maps, just figure out how to get around the place. Take a left at that sign up there, we'll see what we can find.”

It's a lovely day, and Elena can almost pretend she and Vivian will be here together in the fall. She knows they'll talk all the time, it isn't too dire, but she's spent most of her life seeing Viv at least every week, if not every day. It will take adjusting.

Vivian looks surprised when Elena grabs her hand, but she doesn't let go until they leave.

~~_12\. Go to Arthur's end-of-summer party._ ~~

Elena is kissing Vivian behind a tree in Arthur's back yard. Everyone else is laughing around the bonfire, and she smells like smoke and beer, and Vivian is pressed against her like she wants them to be one person. Elena wants to stay here forever.

“You can't leave,” Vivian is saying, over and over, kissing Elena every time she does.

“We're going to be okay, Viv, we are, I—” Elena cuts herself off and kisses her again. She can say it later.

_1\. Tell Viv I love her for real._

* * *

**41.**

It starts, as many of these things do, on the Tube.

He always likes to do a crossword on his way to work in the morning, and he sometimes leaves it behind in the seat when he gets off the carriage. There’s nothing particularly remarkable about this little routine of his until one day, he gets back on in the afternoon and sees the very same paper sitting on the seat again, exactly where he left it—except now the entire crossword is _finished_ , filled out with neat, careful handwriting. It feels deliberate, like a challenge.

And with that, it’s bloody _on_ , dammit. 

—

The next day, he makes sure to fill out the whole bloody crossword. When he catches the tube in the afternoon, the paper is still sitting on the seat in the same place as before. He’s a little disappointed, and he’s about to throw it out when he notices a few scribbles that hadn’t been there before.

_17-Across is supposed to be ‘calling’ and not ‘mission’, which means 17-Down can’t be ‘mic’,_ the note says. _Also, you’ve misspelled ‘machinists’ (2-Across)._

The note shouldn’t make him feel this personally affronted, but it does.

—

He begins making a habit of leaving the crosswords behind. Sometimes they come back completed with the word “OBVIOUS” written in large, annoying letters, and Merlin will reply with the word “SNOB” in equally large print. They go back and forth on a particularly difficult Wednesday puzzle for almost a week. He finally picks up the completed puzzle on a Tuesday afternoon with the word _‘TAPER!!!’_ written in dark, enthusiastic lettering, surrounded by several circles for emphasis. Merlin smiles despite himself.

—

19-Across: E-A-G-E-R-L-Y

_Obviously it’s not that, you daft loser. You know it can’t be a bloody adverb!_

The next day, Merlin tries again.

19-Across: P-I-L-L-O-C-K

—

Sometimes, Merlin thinks that this feels absurdly like flirting.

—

One day, he decides he wants to meet this bloke. It’s been a month, so why not? That’s how he finds himself still on the tube one morning long after his stop, seated next to a supremely hot stranger who is _exactly_ Merlin’s type and is currently writing in the crossword Merlin left for him.

And Merlin has no idea what to say. He must have some kind of really ridiculous expression on his face, because the crossword bloke _notices_ , and says, “Are you alright, mate?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he stammers quickly, and then pauses. “You’re the, um….” He gestures helplessly at the crossword puzzle.

The man stares back at him blankly for a moment before recognition sparks. “Oh! You’re him—you’re the sod who keeps littering crosswords!”

“Oi, I don’t _litter_ them,” Merlin replies defensively. “I leave them on the seat.”

“Hm,” the man says, then starts scribbling something on the newspaper before handing it back to him. “Here. You’ve been gagging for it.”

Merlin takes the paper, still a little caught off guard, and looks at the top where a neat string of digits has been written. “It’s a phone number,” he states blankly. Then, “Oh, shit. That’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?”

“I think ‘presumptuous’ would be asking you if you like pub food, because there’s a nice little bar just down the street from my flat.”

“Oh really?” Merlin says. “Why should I? I don’t even know you.”

“We’ve been talking for a month, and you say you don’t know me? I’m hurt,” the man replies. “My name’s Arthur, by the way.”

“I’m Merlin,” he says, then considers Arthur’s proposition for a moment. “You know what? Yeah, I’d go for some chips.” he says eventually, grinning. “I guess you’re not _that_ bad looking.”

—

Arthur is a sly fucker, Merlin thinks with his back pressed against the wall of Arthur’s flat. Merlin doesn’t normally do this sort of thing, but Arthur is charming and hot, and he kind of likes him, so normalcy can kindly fuck off.

“ _Shit_ ,” Arthur murmurs lowly when Merlin starts to fumble with his zip.

“Just take them off, you massive pillock,” Merlin says.

“Don’t you mean 19-Across?” Arthur quips, but he obliges all the same. Merlin sucks in a sharp breath.

“Fuck…” He drops to his knees.

They’re still almost completely dressed, and they’ve barely made it past the door to Arthur’s flat, and this whole situation is just bloody _absurd_ , but he takes Arthur’s dick into his mouth anyway. Above him, Arthur lets out a muffled groan that goes straight to Merlin’s own cock.

“Pretty nice reward for littering, eh?” Arthur pants.

“Shut up,” Merlin replies, voice muffled, but he’s laughing anyway. He thinks he might sort of really like this crosswords bloke.

* * *

**42.**

She stands naked atop the world, the glass beneath her feet a thousand-colored mosaic. Around her the scent of pepper vines rises, underlaid with cedar from the bonzai trees a dozen steps below.

Under the noon sky, Enmyria dances, hair flickering like a candle flame behind her.

A hundred feet beneath her in the tower's base, Morgause watches her rainbow-limned shadow tumble across the floor and dreams.

~~~~~~~

The island self-sustains except for one ship a year. From the plants growing down the glass walls to the wave-powered looms, everything is provided.

Except freedom. Camelot's mercy has its limits.

Morgause has them gather the molted feathers of birds who winter here. Aglain sees her intent and smiles, encouraging. In this alone it seems they can agree.

~~~~~~~

"You've tried them?" Enmyria asks, stroking a hand over one of Morgause's breasts. "You know they'll work?"

Morgause tangles their legs together, pressing her thigh firmly against Enmyria's mound. "I have. They will."

"I don't know what freedom will feel like," Enmyria admits breathlessly, clutching at Morgause's shoulders and riding down hard. Her skin pinks under her freckles.

"It will feel like this," Morgause whispers, pinching one of Enmyria's nipples and sliding a hand over her bum. "Like too much and we won't always know what to do with it, but beautiful and worth every moment."

Arching, Enmyria squeezes her eyes shut and tries to imagine.

~~~~~~~

At dawn they stand on the tower, packed together with their wide-stretched wings.

Aglain leaps first. They don't breathe for a long moment, until his wings catch air and he gives three powerful strokes, beating his way back upward.

After that, Kara leaps immediately, then Mordred and Morgana. Alvarr darts after them. Sefa leaps side by side with her father, and Forridel takes a running start. Soon, only two remain.

Morgause has been waiting for someone to falter and need to be caught, but no one has. She looks sideways at Enmyria.

"After you."

"Together."

Their bare feet slap on glass, and then they are off.

Wind rips at Enmyria's arms and hair as she lifts her toes to the rudder board, flapping her arms once, twice, before leveling out. Morgause's shadow crosses her face, drifting East.

~~~~~~~

A hundred warnings came before flight. Not too high, nor too slow. No updrafts.

Freya catches one early. Enmyria, closest, hears her cry. She beats upward, unthinking, and dives across to knock her free.

Tangled, they fall. She shoves Freya away to right herself, but Enmyria's too tired to snap her own arms out. The ocean looms.

She lands hard on something that gives, then holds. As she uncurls, she takes a face-full of gold hair.

Morgause, beneath her, bears her up until she can lift herself again. Their toes nearly skim the waves, but they are still in flight.

~~~~~~~

The sun bleeds red behind them. Stars appear, then a moon like a ripe fruit dangling ahead. Morgause drifts closer.

"How far?" Enmyria calls. She doesn't ask, _Why did you wait until you had wings for us all?_

"Steady", Morgause calls back, ignoring the question.

The moon shrinks and pales as it rises, its twin rippling below. Enmyria's body burns - her upper arms, shoulders, chest. Her parched lips crack; her fingers tremble.

Land. Eventually, there must be land.

~~~~~~~

Stars are fading when someone shouts. She lifts her head wearily, blinking at the outline of pink sky behind...

Mountains?

The sun is a half-risen cherry by the time they are close enough to land on the white beach. Exhausted, Enmyria angles too quickly downward and is dragged along by her own momentum. She sits up, spitting sand, and eases her aching arms out of the wing bindings, pulls her blistered toes off the rudder levers.

They live. How is that possible?

She staggers over to help Gilli untangle Alice, who has snapped a wing in landing. Around her, everyone is hugging.

For a moment, none of them are quite sure what to do, standing on a shore that is not their rocky home. A shore where they can run and explore without boundaries.

Then Balinor calls, "Water! Firewood! Shelter!"

"In pairs," Finna reminds them.

Enmyria falls back, taking Morgause's hand.

~~~~~~~

"Worth every moment," Enmyria slurs, too exhausted to do more than crawl up Morgause's body in their tiny lean-to and pillow her head on Morgause's breasts.

"Yes," Morgause agrees. "And tomorrow, you can dance in the sand."

Enmyria smiles against her skin.

* * *


	8. Group D (clean)

**43.**

[](http://imgur.com/YGAwjav)

* * *

**44.**

[](http://imgur.com/K8Nz2aM)

* * *

**45.**

[](http://imgur.com/0jH4KfQ)

* * *

**46.**

[](http://imgur.com/aVcsl6L)

* * *

**47.**

[](http://imgur.com/usXEeDo)

* * *

**48.**

Here is my finished entry for the first challenge. Cross is interpreted as crossing things off a list. Arthur has written a sexual bucket list and Merlin has found it, adding commentary to Arthur's writing along with a few doodles :P

(see full size [here](http://i.imgur.com/TmfceKy.jpg))

* * *

**49.**

[](http://imgur.com/zSZwes4)

* * *

**50.**

[](http://imgur.com/HEZqCXB)

* * *


End file.
